bullet proof, i wish i was
by SparklyBiAnie
Summary: After Bella suffers an unbearable tragedy, she begins to unravel. Edward is helpless to stop it.
1. bitch

_"You have turned me into this, just wish that it was bulletproof."_

 _-"Bullet Proof... I Wish I Was" by Radiohead_

* * *

"Bella. Bella. _Bella."_

The smashed up paper balls flick the back of her head, one after the other. One misses and lands on her lunch tray and she can no longer pretend she can't hear them. It's clear they're not going to stop regardless.

She turns her head to the lunch table behind her.

Mike Newton leans forward over his lunch tray, grinning. The rest of his table, and a few others, are watching.

"Are you going tonight?"

Bella stiffens and turns back to her unfinished food without a word.

" _Oh please, that would be so fucked up if she did_ ," She hears Jessica mock whisper behind her. It's not so quiet that she can pretend that she didn't mean for her to hear every word.

" _It's like if you invited Ted Bundy to a swimsuit contest_."

The entire table crows at that, loudly and with all pretense gone that Bella wasn't meant to hear every word.

She swallows down the hot lump in her throat and grips the sharp edge of her plastic knife tightly in her fist until it snaps.

They used to be friends.

* * *

Her old friends, people she's never even talked to, even the teachers— everyone acts like she's the most despicable thing that's ever walked the earth or they just look through her as if she doesn't even exist.

"Bitch."

Something hard slams into the back of her shoulder and she stumbles forward, dropping her books. They scatter in the crowded hallway, one sliding all the way to the water fountain. Someone kicks it.

She picks them up, one by one, face burning.

She doesn't say one single word to defend herself. Just pulls her sleeve down over her wrist and wipes the dirty footprints off the cover.

Nobody helps her.

It's barely 4th period when the bell rings and she's already in the bathroom, trying to control her breathing.

The stalls are heavily vandalized with graffiti.

She lets her vision go out of focus, the sight of her name written a thousand times blurring away.

* * *

Tyler Crowley is leaning against her locker. She is immediately wary, trying to sidestep him to she can switch out her books but he is in the way.

"Hey, Bella," he says, perfectly pleasantly.

"You're in front of my locker," she mumbles, gesturing behind him.

"Oh, sorry."

He gets out of her way quickly, sweeping his arms to show the way is clear.

She stares at him, a voice in the back of her head whispering that he is up to something. She steps forward anyway, enters her combination, and switches out her books. She shuts it closed and Tyler is still there, waiting for her.

She stares.

He shuffles from foot to foot, suddenly nervous.

"You know… we never really got a chance to talk after— you know, after what happened."

She swallows down the lump in her throat.

"We never really talked before that."

"Yeah. But still," Tyler says with a sheepish grin, sweeping his hand over his hair. "I wanted to ask you something."

She waits, eyes sweeping around him, expecting a trap. Nothing jumps out. It doesn't make her feel any better.

"I was wondering… would you like to go to the Winter Formal with me?"

She blinks.

"I mean— if you're not going with anyone else already. Has somebody already asked you?"

She blinks rapidly and shakes her head, too stunned to do anything but tell the truth. She can't even remember the last time someone willingly talked to her.

Tyler smiles.

"Well, that's perfect then. I'll pick you up?"

Tyler smiles and turns on his heel, leaving her speechless behind him.

* * *

English is a blur.

Mr. Mason hands back their essays on _Romeo and Juliet_ , placing her paper face down on her desk. She reads it and turns it back over (red pen underlining the _D_ \- along with the words " _see me"_ ).

(you failed at that too)

(what a joke)

They're continuing the film from last week. Once Mr. Mason flips the light switch, she puts her face down on her desk and closes her eyes, pressing her cheek on the cool sheet of the failed essay she has no memory of writing.

Mr. Mason walks around a few times, smacking a ruler on the desk of any student who looks close to dozing off. He leaves her alone.

* * *

The bell rings. She snaps awake and quickly gathers her things. She needs to get to Trig before the hallways get crowded, by the simple math of more bodies equals more people to launch vitriol her way.

She sees a crowd by the end of the hallway and her heart sinks.

They're crowding around her locker.

One the boys in the crowd sees her and very obviously waves everyone away. They scatter, leaving Bella clear access.

Is it even worth it?

(She needs to run away. She needs to sleep. She needs to move somewhere where no one knows her name.)

She needs her books.

Her locker is the same as it always is, faded blue paint with a dent on the left bottom corner. She takes a deep sigh of relief and flips it open.

She hears it before she feels it— a loud _pop_ , then something cold splattering across her face.

The smell of paint hits her.

Flecks of red are all over her face, her sweater, her hair, her books. She can taste it in her mouth. It drips everywhere and all over everything in her locker. Everything inside is ruined— her books, old assignments, homework. The paint coats everything. The remnants of the popped balloon wave like a sad flag, rigged to explode with a piece of string the moment she opened the door.

That's not what makes her heart seize in her throat.

There are words written in Sharpie across the inside of her locker.

She stares, and stares, and stares. She can't move. Can't speak. She thinks people might be laughing but she can't hear anything but the distant ringing in her ears.

"I wasn't sure what your combination was."

A voice breaks through the haze.

She turns her head slowly, her hands dead weight by her side.

Tyler leans his head so close that she can feel the hot breath of his every word against her ear.

"You stuck-up bitch. You think anyone is gonna want you after what you did? You think anyone can stand to be around you?"

Tyler leans closer, eyes narrowed. All Bella can do is stare, her voice completely gone.

"We don't care what they say. We know you did it. So now… now you look like what you are."

He slips the Sharpie into his pocket and spins on his heels towards Mr. Varner's classroom without another glance.

The bell rings again, and Bella stands in the hallway alone. Dripping silently onto the linoleum floor. Reading those three words over and over.

PYRO BABY KILLER

* * *

She doesn't quite remember getting to the bathroom, only that she finds herself scrubbing frantically at her face, trying to get the paint off.

The thought that she was only hiding in this bathroom less than an hour ago makes a hysterical giggle bubble up her throat but when she looks in the mirror, Bella sees her reflection heaving, gasping for air with tears coming out of her eyes. It doesn't quite make sense.

She scrubs harder at the roots of her hair, where the paint is being particularly stubborn.

(now you look like what you are)

Can she argue it, really?

Charlie, Renee, and Nessie. And her, alone. With the essential question that would forever plague her because there was no way of ever finding an answer.

(What did they feel last?)

(The monster's fangs?)

(Or your flames?)

* * *

It takes her a while to recognize the haze for what it is and when the panic attack is finally abated, she leans over the sink, scrubbing her face clean with her fingernails.

Lather. Rinse. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

(Out, damned spot!)

The red goes down, swallowed by the sink.

(Out, I say!)

She can do this. Most of the paint hit her sweater. She pulls it over her head, turns it inside out, and pulls it back on. She can do this. She can do this.

She gets every little spot of paint off until her face is red from all the scrubbing and all that remains are those globs glued on to her hairline that will come off only under the steam of a long, hot shower. Her jacket is unsalvageable. She throws it in the trash on her way out.

* * *

She sits by the door to Trig where no one will see her, rocking back and forth, back and forth, keeping the panic at bay. Her body hums with the unbearable grief and fury, all fighting for the chance to make their way outside of her head.

 _Turn around. Go home, like you should've done in the first place._

Or.

 _Go inside and prove to Tyler that you are exactly what he thinks you are—_

(pyro baby killer)

No. No. _No_.

She didn't do it. She didn't do it. _She didn't do it._

God, is she losing her mind?

(Nessie, help me)

They have no clue. They have no idea what she lost for them. They think they know what a monster is? She has faced them, fought them, and won. They call her monster? Killer?

They have no idea what the word is.

 _(Blood claim is the one thing on which our species can reach a mutual understanding, Bells. Something strikes you and draws blood, you have the God-given right to strike back.)_

She reaches into her backpack and grabs the thickest book she owns.

This is something she knows, above all.

She is her father's daughter.

* * *

"Wonderful job, Edward."

Mr. Mason hands over his essay face-up on the table. At the desk across from him, Mike Stanley's eyes bug out of his skull when he sees Edward's grade and he quickly flips his own paper over.

Edward sighs.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

Mr. Mason doesn't allow phones but he's distracted handing essays out and Edward could really care less regardless, so he pulls it out. There are about twenty unread messages, all about a paragraph long.

He sighs again. And scrolls to the very last one.

— _the thing is she hides her feelings very well but I CAN FEEL that she's struggling but I try to talk to her about it and she doesn't want to talk about it, maybe it's with me, maybe if it comes from you she'll be more approachable it's been a year and she still completely and unnecessarily blames herself but I can't do anything if she doesn't want to talk about it so I need you to_ —

"Phones away," Mr. Mason snaps.

His phone is already in his pocket, his thumb smoothly typing out a response to Jasper's frantic messages.

 _I'll keep an eye out. Now calm down_.

He sighs again, settling himself in for the film that they've been watching for the past three days. Mr. Mason likes to pause the movie and quiz people with machine gun speed when he thinks they're dozing off. They're not even halfway through.

His phone vibrates again.

He sneaks a peek at Mr. Mason, who is grading essays, and pulls it out.

 _something bad coming_

From Alice.

He frowns.

Then distantly, Edward hears the sound of 30 people yelling.

The entire class sits up, wide awake.

* * *

He doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know what's going on— they can all hear the sounds coming through the drywall in the classroom next door.

Bella Swan, town pariah, has snapped.

* * *

He sees the class erupt into chaos like a car crash through Jessica Stanley's eyes.

 _Oh god, someone pull her off him—_

 _She's going to kill him—_

 _Call the cops—_

 _Holy shit—_

 _What the fuck is going on in here—_

 _Red paint, red balloon, god she's pissed about it, we're all gonna be in so much fucking trouble—_

The thoughts fly into Edward's head, one after the other.

He hears nothing from Bella Swan. This is nothing new.

 _Students jump from their seats screaming. Short and balding Mr. Varner struggles to pull Bella off of Tyler Crowley— she's exerting so much force in beating his face to a bloody pulp with a textbook that the teacher grabbing at her doesn't even seem to resister._

 _Mr. Varner pants from exertion. One burly student steps forward and comes to his aid. Mr. Varner grabs one shoulder, the boy the other, and they both give one massive tug back._

 _Bella falls backwards_ hard _. She catches her face on the side of a desk and goes out cold._

 _Tyler Crowley lies on the floor, bloody and unconscious._

He jumps up from his seat. No one notices because everyone else is on their feet and making their way towards the door.

"Everyone, get back to your seats!"

No one pays Mr. Mason any attention. Elbows bruise as they dig into his sides, his classmates clamoring to be the first out the door. They rush out, spilling into the hallway just as Mr. Varner's 5th period Trig class runs out of the door, some with tears streaming down their face like they just witnessed a car crash. Others are gossiping frantically, pulling out cell phones and finding their friends in the crowd. Other classrooms are emptying out into the hallway, chaos adding to chaos.

Edward walks as fast as he normally can in the opposite direction.

He finds Jasper just as he is stepping out of his History class at the end of the hall. He closes his fingers tightly over Jasper's arm, pulling him away from the crowd.

Even from the end of the hallway, Tyler Crowley's blood sets his throat burning.

"Don't breathe," he says into his ear, too low for anyone to hear.

Jasper immediately obeys, despite his obvious confusion. His golden eyes widen at the sight of the crowded hallway and both he and Edward are on the other side of the exit doors before anyone even looks up.

* * *

He and Jasper stand outside by the dumpsters, where some of the students like to sneak out and smoke. It has a grove of overgrown hedges right next to it so it's mostly hidden from prying eyes.

They stand together, deeply inhaling the crisp, cool wind with the occasional whiff of rotting garbage, both trying to pretend that Edward isn't listening with all his might to see if Jasper will try and make a break for it. Even being away from the scent wasn't enough with him. Not yet.

"What the hell was that?" Jasper asks, when he deems it safe enough to breathe again.

Edward's entire body relaxes.

He listens.

"It seems like Tyler Crowley played a particularly nasty prank on Bella Swan."

"So what, she attacked him?"

"Looks like it."

Jasper falls silent, and Edward hopes he doesn't notice the quick message he types out to Alice inside the pocket of his hoodie.

 _safe_

"You should go home."

Jasper looks up at that, and Edward can tell he's trying his best not to feel resentful but it's hard when Edward knows exactly what he is thinking anyway.

"But Alice—"

"Will be fine. I promise."

Jasper leans against the graffiti laden wall, shoulders drooping.

"She hasn't said a word to me all morning. Not since the news."

Edward purses his lips.

They had watched the news this morning, expecting some sort of one-year announcement. The "In Memoriam" wake was being hosted tonight by the Forks Police Department over at Forks Elementary School, where Renee Swan taught and which Nessie Swan attended. But they had not anticipated seeing actual footage of that night replay on the screen, with clips of the house burning down to its foundation. Alice had fallen silent and walked out of the room.

"She'll be okay. You know how she is. She's just not used to failing."

Jasper nods his head, resigned. Edward can't help but agree with Jasper's internal monologue— his words are about as useless as they were one year ago.

 _Thank you._

The words drift up to his mind, quiet and tinged with humiliation. Edward nods his head at the ground, knowing that any other kind of acknowledgement will only make Jasper feel worse.

They stand together a little while longer, in their companionable and moody silence.

They both look up when the red and blue lights start flashing across the parking lot.

* * *

He pauses on his way back inside the school, Jasper already long gone behind him with a promise to head straight home and hunt.

He detours sharply from his way towards the front office.

A quick scan around the parking lot shows that the lot is deserted. Students are still caught up in the chaos inside.

For reasons he doesn't want to look at too closely, he slashes the four tires of Tyler Crowley's dark blue SUV with a quick sweep of his fingernails.

* * *

A/N: I rewrote the first 3 chapters as of May 2020 because I hated them.  
I feel like I improved as a writer since I started this story and I wanted the first chapters to reflect that.  
If you have already started reading, don't worry! The only thing that is different is that there is more detail in the first few chapters and a few stylistic things.  
Thank you for reading and please, please, please, please review!


	2. reminders

_"There's no end, there is no goodbye."  
-"Wait" by M83_

* * *

 _The only thing that could be deduced from the crime scene was that the fire had started in Bella's bedroom._

* * *

 _(before)_

 _The first bloodsucker she killed was a newborn in Phoenix._

 _There were plenty of them in the South but this one in particular had been tricky to track. It had them looping and doubling back all around the state before they finally cornered it in an abandoned warehouse._

 _The trap had been set perfectly._

 _Drops of her blood leading to an ankle trap that would usually be about as effective as a cage made of toothpicks if it hadn't been laced with hunter blood already._

 _It was like moths to a flame. They knew it would kill them. They could not resist it anyway._

 _The bloodsucker spat and hissed at their feet. Charlie, broken arm cradled against his chest and pissed beyond all hell, spat back._

 _He couldn't hold the crossbow._

" _You're gonna kill it, Bells."_

 _The monster's skin was bone-white, with sharp cheekbones and dark brown hair that framed an angelic face._

 _It was young— a newborn. It must have been only 14 at the most, when it died._

 _It was hard to notice its beauty and hear the demonic snarls ripping from its chest at the same time. They were two sharply contrasting images and she had difficulty balancing them both— her awe and her terror._

 _Its jaw kept snapping towards her face, delirious with thirst, even in the face of death._

 _She was skinny and short for her age— 13 years old and graceless about it. She could not help but feel pity for whoever the monster was before._

 _She swallowed hard— and raised her crossbow. She hoped feverishly that her hands would not shake._

 _This is what she was born to do, after all. Protect her family, protect the humans, protect those who could not protect themselves._

 _There was no room for pitying monsters._

* * *

"YOU'LL BE HEARING FROM OUR ATTORNEY, YOU SON OF A BITCH—"

The yelling cuts off abruptly with the sound of a slamming door. Bella groans as the pounding in her head gets worse.

Bella distinctly remembers the voice. Mrs. Crowley was at the funeral, dripping with over-dramatic tears and condolences. Bella had to hide in the bathroom to avoid her. She's surprised she can even remember; she was nearly catatonic at the time.

She opens her eyes and immediately shuts them tight, the fluorescent lights stinging her eyes.

Shit. Concussion. Maybe even stitches. Definitely a mess of bruises on her face.

That's not even considering the mess she's made of her already tainted reputation. Maybe she should just drop out.

Also, she must have been brought here when she was unconscious. How embarrassing.

"Bella, we need to talk."

Shit.

She opens her eyes and blinks away the spots to see Mr. Varner, Nurse Jackie, and Principal Green all there, staring at her with crossed arms and varying degrees of disapproval. They are standing right next to— _shit_ —

Police Chief Burke.

She is going to murder Tyler Crowley.

* * *

"We'll keep this quick, since you need to get your head looked at. Nurse says you're stable for now but you're still a minor and a student. We're liable for all kinds of shit if you keel over in the next five minutes so answer me plainly and we'll let you go and get treated."

"Actually, Chief Burke, I have to get back to—"

"Sit. Down."

She sighs. And sits.

The Chief leans forward in his seat.

"Bella… what the _hell_ was that?"

She readjusts her ice pack over her eye. Chief Burke purses his lips when it's clear he's not going to get an answer and settles himself back on the principal's chair. She can tell— he's beyond angry. His face is an alarming shade of purple and there's a tiny vein pulsing in his forehead. She squirms in her seat.

"Okay. So. Let's start with the basics. You're not in handcuffs so you're obviously not arrested but I can't promise Tyler's parents won't sue you for assault."

She tries not to look so guilty. From Chief Burke's expression, she fails magnificently.

"I'll go down there before the day is out and try to reason with them," he continues, wearily rubbing his face. "There might be a chance Mrs. Crowley will drop all charges if I threaten to charge her son with harassment and vandalizing school property. You'll have to be suspended for a week or two, but I'm hoping we can avoid the mess of criminal charges."

Huh. She'd forgotten to care about the possibly of suspension. Or jail. Still, she can't manage to dredge up any sense of relief. It's like the events of this morning are reaching her through a haze of static.

"Isn't that blackmail, Chief Burke?"

"Would you like to file an official complaint?"

There's a tense stare off for a moment before Bella folds and sags in her chair. Chief Burke seems to realize he's not getting a fight and he sags as well, anger dissolving to grim resignation.

He looks older since last year.

" _Bella_ … You _cannot_ go around assaulting every dickhead that goes around saying stupid shit. There's gonna be plenty of those people, believe me. You do _not_ need to go around adding fuel to the fire. Did you ever stop to consider your own future? What if I did arrest you? What would happen then? You could say goodbye to college, to getting a decent job. Not to mention Tyler Crowley is up at the goddamn hospital breathing through a tube!"

Bella looks down, shamefaced.

"No. No, you didn't consider any of that."

He falls silent, the sound of the clock ticking earsplitting in the tiny office.

"I'm sorry," she says in a quiet voice.

She looks up and her guilt flares higher. Chief Burke has his head in his hands.

"Chief?"

He doesn't move for a moment and Bella feels a lurch of panic. She's not exactly a great consoler. But the Chief finally looks up at her and sighs, his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.

"It's been a long day, Bella. I'm sure you'll agree. And I'm sorry for blowing up at you. But I'm concerned."

"I'm fine," she says quickly.

Chief Burke gives her face a once over and she moves her icepack to hide where she imagines she looks the worst. She has yet to look in a mirror.

"It was just… a lot. What he did."

Chief Burke lips thin, anger coloring his face once again.

"What he said was very wrong, Bella. But I don't care about him. I care about _you_. And at the end of the day, you're gonna be the one facing the consequences of your actions."

Bella bites the inside of her lip. It's hard to feel properly chastised when everything still feels so staticky. She feels her head give another nauseating lurch and the sight of Chief Burke sitting across from her blurs. She tries to hide it. Because like _hell_ does she need to be going to _Forks County Hospital_.

"Have you given any thought to the programs I left for you?"

Bella squirms. Programs referring to "support homes." She knows what that means.

"It… doesn't really seem like it's for me."

"And your sessions with the school counselor? How has that been going?"

She resists the urge to roll her eyes.

Dr. _Tabitha_ (she insisted on being called by her first name) was the sort of person who Bella would rank on the very bottom of the list of people she would want to interact with, much less confide in. Bella's still not sure if she's an actual doctor or if they just call her that because the high school couldn't cash out for a real one. She spends the grand majority of her sessions staring at the diploma hanging on the wall, trying to figure out if it's something she just printed off the internet.

Dr. Tabitha is an eccentric, even for Forks. She is in love with Bella because she's messed up enough to need weekly sessions, where she likes to try out new-agey therapy, a lot of it involving essential oils and sage. She means well, but unfortunately for Bella, good intentions are about as helpful as a state hospital would be.

It's not like she can actually talk about her problems. Not with Dr. Tabitha, not with anyone.

The truth would get her medicated in a white-padded room, drooling into a cup.

"She's… fine. She's been having me keep a journal."

"Oh. That's good. Very good. And is it helping?"

Bella tries not to fidget. The furthest she's gotten is writing her name on the inside cover. She hasn't had to worry about getting caught since Dr. Tabitha promised she wouldn't read it.

"I guess."

"Good."

An awkward silence falls and Bella shifts in her chair. The Chief clears his throat. She always wonders if she brings out stilted silence in people, since she never really learned how to keep a conversation going.

Renee always said she got it from Charlie.

She blinks the sudden tears away.

 _Don't think about that._

"Are you coming to the wake tonight?"

The wake. She had successfully put it out of her mind since this morning. Her entire body goes cold.

"The whole town will be there. And people would love to see you… show their support…" He trails off.

She shudders.

He gives her a sad smile.

"If you change your mind, you're always welcome to come around. I know you may not always feel that here, with them fool rumors, but it's true. You got a whole lotta people behind you, Bells."

The nickname unsettles her like nothing else.

"I'll think about it," she lies.

"You have any other plans for today?"

His voice is gentle and cloying with sympathy. It makes her palms itch.

She wants to say she doesn't really see the point of doing anything today. Today is no different from yesterday, nor will it be different tomorrow, or any other day for the rest of her sad life. Her family will remain dead, whether she goes to the wake or if she spends the rest of her life pretending nothing happened at all.

But she doesn't say any of that. She stares at the carpeted floor, grinding her teeth and trying to force down the lump in her throat.

When she finally gets the courage to look up again, she is surprised to see his face drawn with guilt.

"I _am_ trying to find him, Bella."

She flinches.

She knows where this is going, and this is not a conversation she was hoping to have when she dragged herself out of bed this morning. This is not a conversation she was hoping to have _ever_. She swallows down the rising panic— she hasn't prepared for this yet.

"It's been one year now and… I know I've let you down. He should be caught by now, paying his due. But I…."

She feels her face flush, horrified, as she hears the crack in his voice.

He clears his throat and starts again.

"I'll get the son-of-a-bitch. I _promise_ you that."

He sniffs once, then goes silent, his eyes on the floor.

She stares at him.

His skin is sagging a little underneath his eyes. He smells distinctly of cigarettes and whiskey and she knows the second he goes back to the station, he'll reach for the small flask in the bottom drawer where her dad used to keep his lunch bag back when that was his desk. Back when that was his office.

Chief Burke is still looking for an arsonist who doesn't exist.

He's still trying to find the imaginary madman responsible for the deaths of her entire family. But after a year of searching, he's still no closer to solving the case than he was the first day after it happened.

No leads. No evidence. No nothing.

She can't even tell him how useless it is. She knows exactly the thing it was that killed her family.

And vampires don't leave evidence.

* * *

(before)

They only look like people _, Charlie liked to say._

 _They're long dead. They're dead the moment the venom enters their bodies. She knew this._

 _But when she drew back her arrow, she also saw fear in those blood-red eyes._

* * *

She realizes that Chief Burke looks like he's aged a million years since she's seen him last. She realizes that he will look for her family's killer until his dying breath. It's haunting him, and he will never find the answers.

And that? That is one hundred percent on her.

"I know you'll find him." She hears her automatic response come out of her mouth in a flat monotone.

She is the biggest piece of shit.

"I just want you to get some closure over all this and… you know that you can come and see me if you need anything, right?" His voice is earnest and slightly desperate. "Anything at all, you come on down to the station. We miss seeing you over there."

She forces herself to smile. It pulls at all the wrong muscles in her face.

"Thank you. For… everything."

Chief Burke gives her his trademark watery smile as he opens his mouth and subsequently destroys any notion of her getting away with a trip to the hospital.

"You're made of tough shit, kid. You'll be alright. You go and get that head looked at now. I called ahead to the hospital and Dr. Cullen is already expecting you. Nurse Jackie can give you a ride. The last thing that we need is some kind of spectacle."

* * *

The hospital. She has to go to the hospital.

She steps out of the office, once again fighting down the rising panic and she is so distracted that she doesn't notice who else is in the reception area until the hairs on the back of her neck stand without warning.

Her eyes shoot up straight across the room and it's the absolute last thing she needs to see right now.

Edward Cullen is standing with his back to her, shuffling some papers mindlessly in his hands as he waits for the receptionist to get off the phone.

"Are you ready, dear?"

Nurse Jackie's kind voice, saturated with pity, rings out through the reception area. She steps out of her office, her keys already in hand.

The sound of her voice causes Edward to turn around.

His face is carefully blank as he looks at the nurse, then he turns his head to look over at her.

He frowns very slightly as his eyes rake over her face— back and forth— which is sure to be one giant bruise.

Like before, with Tyler, she can't tell what expression is on her face. It's hard to notice things like that when she is choking with pure rage.

But through whatever look he sees on her face, he stiffens. The entire line of his body goes impossibly still.

His eyes— black— narrow.

He doesn't look away from her face. Doesn't even blink.

She ignores her hunter's instinct that is screaming at her never to turn her back on one of _them_. She turns away from his stony face, stalking out of the door into the freezing sleet.

There have been too many reminders today already.

* * *

 _(before)_

 _The strange metallic shredding sound only lasted a split second, but she still flinched when the arrow found its mark through one of the newborn's garnet eyes._

 _Aim for the head— even amateur hunters knew this too. Their precious minds were more vulnerable than their dead, un-beating hearts._ _The second that hunter venom hits the vampire brain, it's all over._

 _The newborn leech fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Her first kill._

 _Vampires are dangerous, vampires are uncontrollable, vampires are savages. She knows this like she knows her own name._

 _But when she saw the newborn's shattered face, she couldn't help but cry._

* * *

"Did you need something, Mr. Cullen?"

The receptionist's voice pulls him out of his trace, staring at the door that just closed behind Bella Swan. His mind cannot move past the last ten seconds.

He looks down at the various colorful school flyers he came to collect in his hands. His flimsy excuse.

He drops them back down on the desk and they scatter in a dizzying array.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Cope," he hears himself say. "I'm just looking."

* * *

 _Go find out what's happening_ , Jasper had told him before he left.

 _We need to know everything that's going on_.

So Edward had dutifully went to the office and spied on the police chief and consequently, on Bella Swan.

Then she walked out with blood on her face.

* * *

Her scent.

Every other human in that maddeningly cramped office smelled overwhelmingly warm and distinct. He could smell the tang of stress and whiskey that ran through Chief Burke's blood. He could smell the cheap perfume on Ms. Cope. Even the nurse, who smelled strongly of antiseptic sanitizer, set his throat burning.

So why did Bella Swan come across so strangely muted to his senses? It had been strange before. But now— it is a screaming sign of proof to what he knows is true.

She had open cuts on her face and he could not smell the blood.

* * *

He drives, speeding through the pouring rain.

He thinks he might be going insane with the sudden influx of information in his brain— it flashes in dizzying speed one after another.

The frenzy in the trig room— the crack of Tyler's nose— the unbelievable strength it took to pull Bella off of him— the force with which Bella fell against the desk— Bella speaking reluctantly to Chief Burke as Edward watched raptly through his thoughts— Bella flinching when he mentioned looking for the mystery murderer….

He replays the total lack of emotion on Bella's face as Chief Burke promised her that he would find the nonexistent arsonist. Not a lack of emotion like Bella didn't believe what the chief was saying, but a lack of emotion that told him that she was hiding something from the Chief, that she knew more than she wanted to show…

He steps harder on the gas.

If they would have passed each other on a crowded street as strangers, he would have smelled the faint whisper of human blood that classified her as human and he would have passed her without a second thought.

But Bella Swan was not a stranger. He was around her every day.

And every time he tried to read her thoughts or track her scent, he would reach some kind of impassable bubble that shielded her from his most acute senses.

Her scent was too faint, too indistinguishable. Too…

Too deliberate.

* * *

The revelation comes before he reaches Forks County Hospital. He careens the car into an impossible space by the curve.

He forgot the most obvious detail. The most damning tell.

Her immediate hatred of him.

Before he even spoke a word to her.

* * *

The rain pours over his windshield like a breaking dam, the wipers swinging wildly back and forth. His hands grip the steering wheel so hard it almost snaps into pieces in his fists.

Somehow, impossibly— Bella Swan knows what he is.

And he thinks he knows what she is too.

* * *

A/N: Updated this chapter as of May 2020.


	3. in memoriam

" _You're a colorful soul in a technicolor world,  
While you're living it black and white."_

— _"All We Are" by Andy Kong_

* * *

(93 years and 3 days ago)

 _He was a shadow, drifting in between beacons of colorful, changing light. People came. People went. He stayed the same, watching them._

 _People who would wave goodbye without even knowing what they were leaving behind._

 _Him, captured in this life that he was stuck repeating— over and over and over._

 _Expecting different results._

* * *

(1 year and 3 months ago)

"Edward _— look at me when I'm talking to you."_

 _(It was another day, another pointless beginning and really, what else was there to say? What more could be possibly learned or heard or felt or experienced that he had not already done a thousand times over already?_

 _Was this what their existence would boil down to? This charade? Pretending to move forward, reading the same stories, relearning the same tired concepts, seeing the same small people who would never know him, who would never know the awful truth of the world?)_

 _The minds were droning on in the background and they were just as desperate as he was for something— anything to happen._

 _Except Rosalie's blathering._

" _I don't want to talk to you. It looks like he does, though," he jerked his head in the direction of a reedy-looking sophomore, who was gaping open-mouthed at Rosalie, looking close to drooling._

 _The poor child flushed purple as Rosalie threw her hair behind her shoulder while simultaneously leveling him with a glare that could melt the Arctic. Impressive, he had to give her that._

" _I asked you a question," she said, her tone clipped and slow, like she was speaking to an imbecile. Her perfectly annoyed face entered his peripheral._

" _Are you really serious about this? Going off on your own again after what happened last time…"_

 _Her voice trailed off. Concern looked odd on her face, not at all a sight he was used to seeing._

"… _last time a half a century ago?" He finished her sentence for her._

 _He was being unnecessarily sarcastic and difficult, he knew this, but he was annoyed with her. Annoyed with Alice. Annoyed with Jasper, and Emmett, and Esme, and Carlisle… He had explained it too many times already and they continued to be difficult._

" _I'm not in the slightest danger of losing control. Temptation is an impossibility."_

" _But I just don't understand_ why _—"_

" _You don't have to understand anything. Besides, you do a fine enough job of that without me getting in the way."_

"Ha ha _," she drawled sarcastically. She drew herself up. "Buuuut… if you could just give us the smallest reason for leaving—"_

" _Rosalie, you don't believe you are being the slightest bit irritating?"_

"— _then maybe Mom wouldn't be so worried," she continued, like he hadn't spoken._

" _Esme is not worried."_

" _She thinks you're depressed."_

" _I'm not depressed."_

" _You're something."_

" _I'm annoyed."_

"Edward _—" she finally cut him off, "talk to Carlisle if no one else. We know something is not right and we do want to help."_

 _He resisted the urge to roll his eyes._

" _We do care about you, you know." She sniffed haughtily, completely ruining the plea in her words._

 _He sighed and slouched in his chair— already in a foul mood— and it was only 10 o'clock in the morning. A remarkable accomplishment, really._

 _He knew, grudgingly, that she did really mean it the best way Rosalie could mean anything. She was not worried like Esme was worried per se, but the situation at home had become uncomfortable. And Rosalie_ did not do _uncomfortable, as she liked to remind him— frequently and loudly._

" _I'll think about it," he said after a few seconds of watching Rosalie pick at her nails. But he did roll his eyes._

 _Rosalie stuck her tongue out at him but her thought floated up into his mind anyway._

Thank you _._

 _The whole conversation happened in the back of their dark Spanish classroom in muted voices, much too fast and low for their classmates to hear. Everyone else was already chattering quietly amongst themselves, not paying the badly dubbed Spanish version of_ "Alice in Wonderland" _any attention. Mrs. Goff was too burned-out to care. She was flipping through a magazine, pretending to be unaware of the utter lack of control she had over her students._

 _He watched the awful movie silently for the remainder of the class, trying to remember what yawning felt like._

* * *

 _The bell finally rang. He dully shoved his memorized books in his bag._

 _Rosalie swept out the door, not bothering to glance back. No need, after all, when you have all the time in the world._

(Of all of his siblings, Rosalie had been there first.)

(The realization made him sad, though he couldn't exactly understand why.)

* * *

(60 years ago)

 _The feeling had intensified over years. He didn't even have the words to explain it to himself._

 _It was an aching loneliness, to feel people's minds so unbearably intimately, and know that it only went one way._

* * *

(10 years ago)

 _He had killed so many people that he was afraid to be alone._

 _Afraid of the return of The Monster when he would eventually emerge from the darkness of his own mind._

 _Esme had said he had always been melancholic but now he wondered if it was something else. The thoughts and emotions of others had become too much to bear, somewhere down the line. He could only feel the echoes of things that had happened to other people. It made him feel plastic and broken— like he had been wired wrong somehow._

 _His family could not understand._

 _Carlisle was a beacon of raw, unpolluted hope, matched in his kindness only by his soft-hearted mother. Emmett was not one to dwell in darkness, nor was Alice. Jasper was protected by his guilt in a way he hardly noticed. He had been ignorant to any other way. And Rosalie had deserved her kills through God-given right._

 _But he had killed. He had endured hearing the frantic thoughts of dying predators— of savage, barbaric humans._

(men)

 _It wasn't for blood. It wasn't because of thirst._

(The truth is something he cannot even admit to himself.)

* * *

(1 years, 3 months, 21 hours, 59 minutes, and 10 seconds ago)

 _It was the truth that was on his mind the moment that Bella Swan walked into the Fork's High School cafeteria._

* * *

(1 years, 3 months, 21 hours, 59 minutes, and 9 seconds ago)

 _It had been such an automatic thing, to follow where the crowd's attention suddenly sharply diverted._

 _It was like a dozen people had suddenly stood, turned, and pointed to the new object of their attention, like children ogling a shiny new toy._

 _He had automatically turned to look._

 _He had heard the vague gossip about the new kid from some random thought here and there over the past week. A girl, one of the new police chief's daughters, moving from sunny Phoenix. He hadn't paid too much attention, too focused on other arrangements. But now, he looked up across the cafeteria._

(It was like he hit a wall.)

 _An ordinary girl— a bit too pale, a bit too rigid— fussing with her lunch card, looking distracted next to a chattering Jessica Stanley._

 _She looked anxious, staring avidly in front of her, never once looking around._

 _He automatically reached for the strands that he could pick up, that he could follow to pick her brain find out why. And—_

 _Nothing._

 _Not even a whisper._

 _His siblings sat next to him, pretending to eat. And didn't notice that the universe had just shifted on its axis._

* * *

 _He watched her for the rest of the lunch period, trying to reach behind whatever that was that shielded her voice from him._

 _At one point, she froze in her seat._

 _She looked halfway up from her lunch tray and he felt a stir of excitement. She was going to follow that instinct humans had, the reaction to look up at the feeling of someone watching you. She would look up and look straight at him._

 _But no._

 _She stared at the same spot in front of her._

(His intuition flickered. It was like she was staring at him through her peripheral. Like she knew exactly where he was sitting, and she was deliberately not looking there.)

 _Then she looked down, her face strangely blank. Revealing nothing. The people next to her chattered away and she made no effort to join them._

 _For the first time in a long time, he felt blinded._

* * *

 _When she got up to dump her tray and head to class, he got up to do the same._

 _He had waited for her to get up first. She headed outside and the chilly wind blew her hair back as she pushed open the double doors, blowing her scent right into his face where he was standing, not ten feet behind her._

 _He remembers feeling disappointed._

 _It was strange in how boring it was. Muted, like the air around her._

(But he couldn't explain the inkling of suspicion. Like he was in the presence of something extraordinary, hidden behind a veil.)

* * *

(1 year, 1 day, 10 hours, 21 minutes, and 52 seconds ago)

 _He didn't tell any of his siblings of the mystery of Bella's block on his mindreading._

 _He could not rationalize why he didn't want to. It wasn't like it was dangerous or important for them to know. But he did not want to tell them._

 _He was alone for a long time, surrounded by people who were not. Carlisle had Esme, Rosalie had Emmett, Alice had Jasper. He could feel their pity towards his loneliness in their thoughts more and more._

 _It was strange and petty, but it was still not enough to get him to tell them._

 _The mystery of Bella Swan was something that was his alone._

* * *

 _He had no classes with her._

 _He spent his time pondering over explanations to her strangely silent mind. Nothing seemed to fit. He followed the thoughts of the people surrounding her, his attention split between trying to solve the mystery and genuine intrigue in the kind of person she would turn out to be._

 _He was left unsatisfied._

 _People talked to her, excited with the new girl. They wanted to be the ones to get her to speak, to gain her friendship. A few of the boys wanted something more than just friendship._

 _But she never let anything slip._

 _She would smile, nod, and offer small commentary, just enough to get people to think they knew her._

 _He learned that she missed Phoenix but was getting used to all the rain. He learned that she had already read all the books in her English class curriculum. He learned she disliked being called Isabella. Not because she had said it aloud, but because he had watched her face twist unhappily when people said it to her so many times. He learned that she had a little sister that she absolutely adored, not because she said it outright, but because her face would light up every time she answered that question._

" _Do you have any siblings?"_

" _Yes, one. A little sister."_

 _It was the happiest he ever saw her._

(But the shield was on her face more often that it wasn't. It was in her every expression— she hid her emotions well but the reason behind the vague sadness in her eyes when the mask fell away eluded him too.)

* * *

 _In the cafeteria— the closest he ever was to her— her face was blank. She put more effort in her mask then._

 _Not once did she ever look in the direction of the Cullen table. Not even accidentally._

 _Not even when the table's favorite topic of discussion— the scandal of the adopted Cullen's relationships— took over the conversation. Her eyes stayed glued to the lunch tray in front of her. Every time._

(Which was what gave her away.)

* * *

(1 year ago today)

 _Before the murders, Bella had been an enigma, a mystery he would only ponder at in a distance._

 _After._

 _After, Bella was a shrieking ghost, haunting his every thought._

* * *

(9 months ago)

 _Exactly three months after the murder of her entire family, Bella Swan had finally come back to school._

 _That morning, he had learned from the frenzied thoughts of the school guidance counselor, Ms. Patterson, that Bella's schedule had been flipped around to allow for a counseling session in the middle of her school day._

 _She would see the school counselor once a week to check in and would finish out her history class online to allow for the change._

 _That wasn't what made his breath seize in his lungs._

 _Bella now had Mr. Banner's 6_ _th_ _period biology class for the rest of the school year._

* * *

(the beginning)

 _He wouldn't have thought that brown could burn._

 _But her eyes did._

 _It was the first time she had ever looked at him, despite already attending Forks High School for 6 months._

 _They scorched with such a fire that the moment she walked into that biology classroom, he knew in a fraction of a second that she absolutely loathed him._

 _This was before the rumors started, back when people would look at Bella and feel pity. Along with a sense of voyeuristic fascination for the entire tragedy._

 _She walked into Mr. Banner's class with a martyred expression, the face of someone asked to do something despicable but necessary for a short period of time._

 _She took the only open seat in the room. Right next to his._

(There was ash on the bottoms of her shoes.)

* * *

 _She had shorn her long brown hair to a jagged cut level at her jawline._

 _He remembered Carlisle's memory of that night— the fire had eaten away the ends of her long hair into a melted mess. The new cut was choppy and harsh, like she had hacked away at it with dull scissors. It made her look older— sharper. More damaged._

 _The unhealthy pallor of her skin made her look like she was cold._

 _The burn scars that swept across her forehead were so faint that he doubted they would scar. There was a beige bandage on the side of her neck that covered the worst of the burns on her neck. Overall, she had healed miraculously well, though he couldn't judge the progress of the other scars he knew were there— the ones that had encased her entire right side— because of her thick green sweater and jeans._

 _There were deep, dark purple circles under her eyes that were a screaming sign of proof to the extent of her grief in the past few months._

 _She could almost pass for a vampire, he thought, if vampires could look like they were dying._

* * *

 _He had never seen anything so painful to look at._

 _She was thin, almost dangerously so._

(Her eyes screamed.)

 _For whatever reason, Bella Swan hated him before he even spoke a word to her._

 _He stared at her small, pale fists for the rest of the class period. She never relaxed her tension, not even for a second. He could see the white bandage on her right wrist. It peeked out from where she tried to hide it, under her sleeve._

 _When the bell rang, she sprang up from her chair._

 _Her leg brace was secured tightly around her right leg— no cast. Carlisle had been adamant that her broken femur would heal with no complications. It had been a clean break._

 _It did nothing to her ability to storm out of the classroom without a backwards glance. She was the first to leave the class._

 _He could only stare after her._

 _Her mind, as always, remained frustratingly blank._

* * *

 _He watched her through the minds of others as she left. He saw her eyes change from her burning stare to an exhausted weariness, as if her display of loathing had absolutely drained her._

 _For the rest of the day, he watched her._

 _The hostility did not return with any other person— she kept her face down, hiding as much of the burns and the cuts as she could, her hair falling in front of her face like a thick curtain. She looked at no one. She spoke to no one, not even to those few who braved the throng to offer their condolences. Even then, she kept her head down, completely mute, until the person would get frustrated and leave. She was a zombie, acknowledging no one. He had been the exception._

 _The mystery burned._

* * *

(now)

"Bella, wait."

(wait)

(it is the first thing he ever says to her)

* * *

A/N: Time skips around a lot in this chapter. Time for Edward gets more distinct and significant when he meets Bella. In case you didn't catch it, Edward and "the truth" will be an important part later in the story.

(I have updated this chapter in May 2020. Nothing too big, just a few stylistic things)


	4. blood

_"I'm not free at all."_

 _-"Haunted House," Florence and the Machine_

* * *

"I'll just drop you off here," Nurse Jackie says, pulling right at the entrance.

Bella stares gloomily out the window.

Should she try to make a run for it now?

"Unless you'd like me to go in with you…?" Nurse Jackie trails off, hesitating.

Bella has a brief flash of horror as she imagines making small talk with the ancient school nurse as she waits to be examined.

"No," Bella says quickly, "I'll just get out here. Thanks."

"Take care, dear," the nurse says kindly as she slams the door shut. Nurse Jackie peels off, spraying her with flecks of freezing mud.

Bella looks up at the nondescript building in mute horror.

Forks County Hospital is a spectacle of muddied cars and a crumbling concrete parking lot marked with fading yellow paint and uneven spaces in front a three-story building that stands as the tallest structure in Forks. From here she can see the wide canopy of green and black bark that splinters into a hundred other trees constantly lost under the cover of foggy rain, a haunted forest straight out of a gloomy fairytale.

It's all familiar in a horrible sort of way.

She forces her legs to start moving, her hair dripping freezing rainwater down her back, even under her hood. She wouldn't put it past Chief Burke to drag her back here in an ambulance if she makes a run for it now. At least inside it would be warm.

The bell dings cheerfully as she walks in. She takes a second to appreciate the warm gust of air from the heater that hits her face— until she immediately sees why the entire parking lot is full of cars.

The waiting area is full of what looks like every student in Forks High School.

The chatter immediately dies as she limps her way in. She takes in the room and then drops her eyes to the floor, heart racing inside her chest. She hates— _hates_ — that she can feel her face start to burn.

Someone snickers. Then the chatter starts up again.

 _Get moving, stupid._

She forces herself to make her way to the reception area, where the woman behind the counter is gawking at her with eyes about to pop out of her skull. Bella self-consciously tries to smooth her hair down under her hood but then remembers the mess of bruises and mud on her face and quickly gives up.

The receptionist— Julia, Bella reads on her name tag— hands over a clipboard with a stack of forms held between her two fingers, as if touching Bella would ruin her perfect manicured fingernails or give her leprosy or something.

"Name?"

 _As if you don't already know_. She shuffles her feet awkwardly, trying to ignore the press of stares behind her.

"Swan. Bella."

"Swan," the nurse titters, eyes darting to Bella and over to the waiting room like she's watching a soap opera before turning her attention on the keyboard. "Insurance?"

Bella grimaces. She digs out her never used card from her wallet hidden underneath the pile of junk at the bottom of her backpack, trying not to blush even harder as scraps of month-old shopping lists and long forgotten homework assignments spill out on the floor. She clumsily hands the card over as she hastily shoves everything back into her bag as quickly as she can, face burning so hot she starts to sweat.

The receptionist is enraptured, like she thinks a blood-stained axe is going to fall out along with her unopened tampons.

She takes the insurance card, fingers clacking loudly as she enters the information.

"Are you 18 years of age?"

Bella grimaces again. "17. I'm emancipated."

Her eyes bug out of her skull again. Bella shuffles nervously.

"Well. You can wait in the waiting room. Dr. Cullen will see you shortly."

Two very bad ideas.

She turns to the packed waiting room, where everyone crammed in is now facing her with varying degrees of hostility on their faces. Some look outright vicious, others hesitant, some jeering.

" _Bitch Bella_."

Whispers. Giggles. Mutters. Looks.

She could jog back to the high school. She could hitchhike to Canada. She could cut her hair, change her name, live out the rest of her life as a lonely Alaskan hermit.

"…in the emergency room with his mom. His face is all messed up—"

"Apparently she's going to jail? My mom's friends with his mom and she's serious about pressing charges—"

"—crazy. Fucking crazy, man."

She reluctantly takes a seat at the very corner of the room, glaring at the floor and mentally cursing everything in existence. She tries to focus on filling out the forms but it's hard when the group in front of her starts to whisper loudly over whether or not she'll go to prison. She scratches out the same line over and over and tries her best to block them all out.

 _Any past medical procedures?_

They should know. She writes it all down anyway.

 _Any chance you might be pregnant?_

Ha.

 _Any pain, discomfort, blurred vision?_

Yes, yes, and yes. She jots down no, no, and no.

 _Any suicidal thoughts?_

She stares at the tiny black lettering.

 _Any suicidal thoughts?_

Her heart is pounding in her ears.

 _Any suicidal thoughts?_

Is she paranoid or are the girls huddled in front of her staring at her like she just lost her mind?

 _Any suicidal thoughts any suicidal thoughts ANY_ —

"Isabella? This way please."

A vaguely familiar looking nurse comes to her rescue.

She hastily gets to her feet and sidesteps the crowd, ignoring every noise of protest as she trods on toes and pushes past bodies much taller than her.

"I haven't finished," she mutters nervously, holding up her chart. The nurse beckons her forward anyway.

The nurse waits for Bella to make her clumsy way towards the double doors, a look of sheer annoyance on her face. It's an almost physical wave of relief when she leads her away from the waiting room and the doors close behind her, blocking her view of the crowd. She dutifully follows after the nurse's bouncing ponytail, trying to ignore the rolling anxiety in her stomach. Trying very hard not to think about the last time she was here.

Bella definitely recognizes the nurse, now that she's gotten a closer look.

She's one of the good ones, Bella remembers. Crisp, professional, a little mean if she was in a hurry. No-nonsense attitude about the rumored possibilities of Bella Swan's potential homicidal tendencies.

They walk quickly down the hall, the nurse's sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor and Bella stumbling over her feet trying to keep up, and into an examination room. She all but shoves Bella into a bed, never once taking her eyes off her chart.

" _No_ blurred vision, discomfort, or nausea?" She raises an eyebrow.

"No," Bella says unconvincingly.

The nurse gives her face— her bruised, cracked, bleeding face— a once over and she sniffs conspicuously, scribbling something messy on her chart that Bella can't read. She reaches behind her and rips two Kleenex from the box on the counter.

"Press," she drones, her eyes back on her chart.

Bella shakily reaches for the tissues with a muttered thanks and presses it against the most pulsing part of her head, right on her forehead. When she pulls it away, the dark red has soaked straight through the tissue. Her stomach gives another nauseating turn.

"I was actually wondering if I could just get some Tylenol and I could be on my w—"

The nurse interrupts her by pressing an ice pack on the top of her head. Her brain pulses painfully right where it makes contact.

"Hold this."

In the next second, Bella is hooked on what seems like a dozen cords, measuring her vitals.

"Dr. Cullen will be in shortly."

The nurse sweeps quickly out of the room without another look, her parting words wrenching a hole in her gut.

Dr. Cullen. Right.

She is really not up for the bullshit charade right now.

But. She has to play it. It is that or… Or be discovered. Be killed.

Despite her usual paranoia when it comes to the Cullens, she does not believe she is exaggerating.

She allows her shield— her strong, invisible, shining shield— to recoil back to somewhere deep inside of her. It lies dormant, sleeping and malleable, waiting for her to bring it forth again. She imagines her scent spilling to every corner of the room, the smell of her blood from the open cuts on her face vivid and warm, the way it must smell to a vampire.

Fresh meat.

* * *

They had spent a long and trying three months together, she and Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

Their relationship has not improved.

"I'm sorry for taking so long," the monster says when he walks into the room, even though he didn't take that long.

Carlisle Cullen.

He's familiar enough to not strike terror into her right away, just an instant irritation mixed with an extreme apprehension. It's exhausting.

He somehow manages to look both immaculate and exhausted at the same time. The deep purple shadows under his eyes are so jarring against the eerie, unnatural gold that she wonders how the Cullens haven't been exposed by now— something that unsettling ought to have done the job by now. His skin only has a few shades more color than the bright white of his lab coat and the combined pale of the monster with the white of the room makes her feel like she's entered the set of a psychedelic horror movie.

If she were anyone else, he would be an awe-inducing thing to behold, if a little bit impossible to comprehend. But she is who she is, and she bites down hard on her bottom lip to keep the nausea at bay.

"Let's get this started so we can get you out of here as soon as possible. Sound good?"

Carlisle Cullen _unnerves_ her. Always has.

A vampire. A doctor. A contradiction in and of itself.

One who had bothered to save people. Had saved her.

Why?

Her father, when faced with the enigma of Carlisle Cullen, had refused to compromise his rigid viewpoints. To him, the world worked one way and that was it. You were guilty or you weren't, and that was it. You were a monster, or you weren't, and that was it. He was a product of his upbringing, the kind of man who had stared evil in the face too many times to be distracted by its bells and whistles. He was convinced Carlisle Cullen was a trick, some way to leech the humans dry— systematically. A new breed of vampire.

 _Easy access_ , Charlie had muttered. _Mark my words._

But Bella is not her father.

And she is not so sure of the world's reliability.

"I don't need to be here."

Dr. Cullen almost smiles as he grabs the nearest swivel chair and sinks into it, smooth and casual, spinning to face her like she's his favorite patient in the world and he's shedding off that layer of professionalism that he reserves for everyone else. She wants to flinch back, away from him and away from the notion he's playing at— as if they could ever pretend to be acquaintances or friends. It didn't matter how many grueling hours they had spent in each other's company, when she was at her worst and he was the constant witness to it all.

His voice gave her the worst news of her life.

"Well, I assume Chief Burke is merely being overly cautious."

She resists the urge to groan.

"He called you?"

"Or course. Regardless, it _is_ my job to make sure that you are not going to keel over anytime soon. Call me thorough."

She fiddles with a loose thread on her sleeve, avoiding his eyes. Would being as difficult a patient as she could be be as satisfying as she imagines it, or just counterproductive in the long run?

"I just want to go home. It's been a… long day."

The _my-entire-family-is-dead_ card. She hardly ever plays it and it's a testament to how much she doesn't want to be here that she's folding now, so early in the game. But, of course, while it always seems to do the trick to _literally_ _anyone else_ , she thinks bitterly, Carlisle seems to have developed some form of immunity.

All he does is flip open her chart and start scribbling down nonsense words that by no means apply to her— _concussion_ , and _malnourished_ , and _depression_ , and _trauma_ — she'd bet her life on it. All words he's scribbled down before, as if writing it down meant anything ever got done about it.

The file in his hands is thick.

"I understand." He jots something else down, utterly unfazed. "We'll get through this as quickly as possible."

He keeps his eyes on her chart and his voice is quiet when he speaks again.

"I know how much you would rather not be in a hospital, Bella."

She presses her nails down hard into her palms. It's on the tip of her tongue.

 _You don't get to call me that, leech._

Carlisle lowers her chart down onto his lap and leans forward, face grave. She fights down the sudden flare of paranoia that he can read minds.

"You want to tell me what happened today?"

 _No_.

"It's nothing. It's fine."

She avoids his unsettling eyes and picks at a dead flake of skin on her finger. Maybe she's beginning to decompose.

"That is the last thing it looks like to me."

He looks pointedly at her face, which starts to throb at his words, as if to prove his point.

She swallows hard and tastes copper. She doesn't know how it happened— all she can recall is the distinct red haze that colored everything, that made her feel separate from the chaos going on around her and inside her. That it felt like she was standing at the edge of the circle with the other students, watching herself go crazy, stunned at the spectacle of that unhinged girl who could not possibly be her.

"Can I go?"

God. Even her voice sounds dead.

"No. You cannot," he says kindly.

Dread fills the pit of her stomach.

Carlisle stops busying himself with her chart to frown at her. His face is strange for a moment before it goes blank again, so quick that she's sure she imagined it.

He reaches behind him to grab blue latex gloves, and she seizes the chance to double-check her shield. It's only a second but that's all she needs— she strains that invisible muscle inside of her, making it transparent enough to allow the scent of her blood to filter through. A perfectly human scent.

It goes against her every instinct to not wrap her shield up thickly around her, but she manages to balance perilously on that tightrope.

"I'm just going to prod the area, make sure there's no severe damage," he warns, hands up as if to show he's unarmed.

Past experience with Bella taught him how well she reacted to being touched unexpectedly.

She is so good, _so good_ at this charade, that she doesn't even flinch when she feels his fingers begin to prob along her scalp. His fingers are slightly too firm, but his touch is gentle. Her head throbs when he finally removes his hands.

She thinks she's going to hurl.

"So you're not going to tell me what happened with the Crowley boy?" Carlisle asks with his back to her, ripping off his gloves as he turns.

He is as calm and patient as ever, and she hates that she isn't as good at the façade as he is.

"Nothing happened."

"Bella… I thought we were past this."

She almost snorts out loud.

Like he knows anything about her. Like he has the right to assume anything about who she is and what she's feeling. Three months in the burn unit with Dr. Vampire peeling off decayed, charred flesh from her neck and arms and legs meant shit to her.

She didn't ask to be saved.

(Quite the contrary.)

Carlisle's eyes are sympathetic. It's unsettling to the extreme.

"Talking helps. You might roll your eyes at that, Bella, but it does. Trust me."

Of all the things he has told her, that is the most egregious.

But… She can give him something. Just a little. It's easier than accidentally giving herself away because she is so close to confessing just how much she doesn't trust him. And why.

"He's an asshole," she says in a rush. Her heart pangs at the memory of what he wrote on her locker. "I'm sure you'll tell me that's no excuse."

Carlisle's face gives nothing away. "Why is he an asshole?"

"Because—" She can't. She can't say it out loud.

(psycho baby killer)

"Just because."

Carlisle can be ridiculously perceptive— and it's never more apparent than when he is looking at her like _that_. Eyes open, wide and unblinking— do vampires even need to blink? The seconds tick by slowly and all she can hear is the beep of the machine, measuring her vitals, as she sweats but stubbornly refuses to blink first.

Seconds pass before she realizes she's forgotten to hide the hatred from her face.

"I'm sorry," he says.

It's not what she expected.

His words hover in the broken silence between them, incomprehensible.

"Why?"

She blurts out the question before she can think not to, and then—to her horror— keeps going.

"You don't have to care about me."

He looks straight into her eyes when he answers her.

"Why wouldn't I?"

* * *

 _(Before)_

" _They're in there, completely defenseless. None of them have the slightest idea what they're sitting next to. Who knows? If there's the slightest slip up or just some random accident— a frenzy could happen."_

 _Bella and Charlie had been sitting at the kitchen table, a mess of paperwork in front of them._

 _It was a Thursday afternoon. Bella would start school at Forks High School the following Monday._

 _Charlie frowned at the schedules in front of him. "I don't care what Billy says. Vegetarian vampires or not— it's downright criminal. Irresponsible." His nostrils flared. "It's an accident waiting to happen. It's in their nature to lose control."_

 _It hadn't sat right with Charlie— five vampires, purposefully placing themselves in an area with vulnerable, unaware teenagers._

 _He had printed off the Cullen's school schedules from the station. It was amazing what someone could get with a police chief's log in information._

" _And the doctor? What do you think about him?" The concept of a vampire doctor still shocked her._

 _Bella stared at the names on the yellow notepad in front of them, written in Charlie's messy block lettering. CARLISLE AND ESME CULLEN. JASPER AND ROSALIE HALE. ALICE, EMMETT, AND EDWARD CULLEN. Surprisingly, all their paperwork had checked out. They're the first vampires they've ever come across who even bothered with squeaky-clean paperwork._

 _That had been a first. Along with the doctor vampire. Also_ vegetarian _vampires, as ridiculous as that sounded._

A lot of firsts, with these leeches _, she thought._

 _Charlie frowned. "_ Dr _. Cullen?" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I need more time to figure out that one. I've never heard of a vampire being around blood for so long without feeding. Not ever. Something else is going on there, you mark my words."_

* * *

For one agonizing moment, she stares at Carlisle and he stares back— and she swears he can read all the secrets in her eyes like stars.

 _Why wouldn't I?_

He had said it— not like a kind remark about the likeliness of her character— but like a challenge.

 _What do you think I am?_

She can't look away. To look away first is to lose.

The moment is broken when outside— sounding so far away from this little room— a child starts to wail.

She folds. Looks down at her muddy shoes. Tries to calm her racing heart.

"Poor kid," Carlisle mutters, entirely unfazed as he flicks the machine recording her vitals with his fingers. The erratic beeping starts up again, rapid and irregular. "Nothing worse than resetting a broken bone."

She can think of multiple things. But she keeps her mouth shut. She's already given too much away, though _what_ exactly she can't be sure.

But Carlisle is nothing if not perceptive, and he realizes the meaning behind his words without any input from her.

"I apologize," he says softly. "And take it back."

She can feel his eyes on her face, watching her stare at her shoes.

"Of course there are worse things."

She blinks slowly, tries to look bored.

"Mm," she hums noncommittally. "Poor kid. Must hurt."

An uncomfortable silence falls. She fiddles with her fingers and watches him from the corner of her eye. Dr. Cullen stands and turns to record something on her chart. After a moment's pause, he turns back to her with an air of making his mind up about something, shifting his weight from foot to foot. For the first time since entering that room, he seems hesitant, unsure of what to say next.

What exactly he could have to say that he hasn't already said, she has no idea. She still doesn't trust herself to look up.

Did she give herself away?

"Bella…" He starts.

A nervous twitch of the eyebrow breaks through her control.

"I need to speak with you, very clearly... as your doctor."

He is frowning deeply when she finally tears her eyes away from her shoes.

"By all means," she says, forcing politeness into her voice that just comes out sounding testy.

Her legs vibrate with anxiety and she has to physically force herself to be still. She catches herself gnawing on her bottom lip and immediately stops.

Dr. Cullen watchers her steel herself and his expression sets, some unknown suspicion of his confirmed.

"You are not fine."

It's a blunt statement of fact, no room for debate, but she makes one anyway.

"So fix my face."

"That's not what I am referring to."

She is a glass mosaic about to shatter.

"Just treat me," she says in a rush of shuddering air, "or refer me or discharge me, just do whatever you need to do so I can— I just need to go—"

Her eyes start burning out of nowhere.

"I'm _tired_."

Her voice, to her horror, breaks at the last word. She feels the color drain from her face and she shudders where she sits—paranoia insane in her veins—exhaustion screeching inside her ears.

Her mask is a chipped-down, mosaic tragedy of a thing and suddenly, _immediately_ , she _hates_ him for it. _Hates_ him for being the ever-constant witness to her lowest points. _Hates_ him for what he is and the way he makes her doubt, _hates_ how he makes _her_ feel like the wrong one.

She stands up, her mind instantly made. "I'm going now."

"You do this," he says, his voice quiet.

Her next step falters. While she has stood up with the full intention of leaving, she has made no actual break for the door. Carlisle is standing in front of her off to the side, not yet deliberately blocking her way. She wonders if he has it in him.

"Do what?" She snaps.

"Run. Avoid."

Something shivers, holds its breath on that last fragile tendril inside of her, and gives way.

Tears start streaming down her face and the monster blurs out of sight.

"I am _fine_."

 _Fine, fine, fine fine fine._ She can say it so many times it almost sounds like a real word.

"Bella, you have clear evidence of PTSD and regression of traumatic memory. You lose track of conversations in the middle of them. You display hypervigilance at the most ordinary things. You are entirely isolated from friends— you lose your temper at the slightest provocation and you have never, not _once_ since you stepped into this office, lowered your guard."

For a moment, she thinks she's talking about her shield.

"Bella. Look at your hands."

Her hands?

She looks down. Her fists, which have clenched into fists at some point, finally release.

There are four tiny half-moon crescent marks on each of her palms, bright red, where the nail bit through skin. The dark red droplets are already pooling on her palms, where the much bigger crescent of an older scar starts to burn with a phantom ache.

(Fire. Venom. Pain. How many times in her life would she burn?)

She shuts all memory out and shakes her head. She can't let herself think about that right now.

"Bella, I'm sorry," he says again, when the silence starts to become the loudest thing in the room. He looks genuinely apologetic.

"I shouldn't push you too hard. But I am afraid that if I do not, then no one will. I mean what I say. Listen," he says, his eyes unbearably earnest, "these things don't just get better on their own. It's just like a broken bone that must be set and cast to be treated. Your mind is no different."

She has nothing to say to that. She swallows again and again, trying not to think too hard about what he's saying, lest she fall into panic.

"Bella…" He says, kneeling down so his face is level with hers, even if he's still feet away from her. "I fear you are suffering unnecessarily. I know how strong you are. And how _brave_. But that doesn't mean you have to bear _this_ alone."

 _This_? Her heart stutters strangely at his strange emphasis on the word. She feels like something heavy is about to drop over her head and crush her.

"What do you… I don't know what you're—"

"What happened to your family was an unforgiveable _wrong_ ," he says, eyes shining. "I know you must feel very afraid and very alone. I think you are incredibly brave to be here, and I know it will take some time, but I hope… ultimately… that you can come to trust me."

She shakes her head, his words not making any sense. Not wanting it to make sense. Because he's talking like… like he—

Her heart stops completely in her chest.

"As a father, I wouldn't want my child alone in the world if I was gone. I think your parents would feel the same."

His eyes are earnest and beseeching and _honest_ and _a vampire's_ and she can't— she can't—

"Please, just… If you need anything, you know where to find me."

" _Stop_. Just— stop."

 _You are guilty or you aren't. You are a monster, or you aren't._

She does not want to play the game anymore. The rules stopped making sense the day she survived and her family didn't.

Why is the vampire in front of her is less monstrous than the people outside?

Carlisle is quiet for one long, earsplitting moment.

"Your head will heal fine on its own. Take two Tylenol for the pain every four hours. You are free to leave, if you wish."

She can't physically speak anymore.

She doesn't look at Carlisle. She just walks out the door and leaves. She expects to hear him protest behind her but the space she leaves behind is silent.

Once again, outmatched.

* * *

 _(Before)_

 _She sat at that kitchen table, staring at her brand-new schedule, lying right next to the blueprint of the high school in front of her, feeling her stomach squirm._

 _Of course, she wouldn't be in real danger if she stuck to the plan— she would build her shield up every day before going to the building, go to class, be a normal student, and basically avoid them. She was capable and dependable. There was no way Charlie would send her in there alone if that wasn't the case._

 _But she was also crawling out of her skin at the idea of being around so many of them at one time. Though she wouldn't admit it under torture, she was terrified that she'd have to go to school with them, day after day after day._

 _Another first._

 _Charlie noticed the look on her face. He leaned forward in his chair and sighed, reaching over and gruffly patting her on the shoulder. His brown eyes— a mirror reflection of hers— were slightly sad._

" _You'll be alright, Bells. Just stick to the plan— if anything happens, you do not engage. Raise the alarm and we'll be there in a second." He winked at her, giving her another reassuring pat on the shoulder._

 _Renee looked up from where she was painting the kitchen cabinets an obnoxious sunny yellow, humming what sounded like a preschool song. She turned to smile at her._

" _You'll be alright, baby. There's something different about this place— I can feel it. You'll be graduating here," she sang, in an overly cheerful voice._

 _Her mother smiled brightly, but Bella could see the hint of worry tightening around her eyes, though she tried to hide it._

 _She tried her best to smile back._

* * *

 _They spent the rest of the afternoon going over the routes she would use to take to her classes, all for the purpose of avoiding the Cullens on the way to their own classes. By the end of it, the blueprint was a mess of tangled complicated lines in different colored highlighter. All orchestrated in such a way that she wouldn't even accidentally bump into one of them. No easy feat, in a high school with only 357 people. Now 358._

* * *

 _She spent the rest of the night unpacking the pile of moving boxes, wondering if there was even a point. They would only pack up and move far away soon anyway. That was the life they led. Nomadic vampires called for nomadic vampire hunters. There was no other way._

 _And yet Renee had taken the time to paint the cabinets._

 _She knew that her mother was getting sick of it, the constant packing and moving away. All she wanted was to see Nessie have friendships that lasted longer than one-year intervals and to see Bella stay long enough at any school to see her graduate without having it feel like a secondhand accomplishment to staying alive long enough to walk the stage._

 _Bella didn't care too much about it— she never made friends as easily as Nessie did and she had never cared very much about having the normal experiences of the average teenager. And what was the point of university? She already knew what she would spend the rest of her life doing. She would graduate and go straight to the Academy, where she would become a police officer and work under her father, wherever they might be, and eventually go off when she was ready, when she could handle the hunt on her own. It was hard for her to connect to people, to places. To anything, really. She was better suited to the life of constant running than Renee and Nessie were._

 _Renee's growing impatience worried Charlie too, but what was the alternative? Ignoring the problem wouldn't make it go away._

 _Still. She had liked Phoenix._

* * *

 _The Sunday night before she would start school, she stayed up late, unable to sleep. She watched the raindrops cast shadows down the windowpane. The tears fell silently down her face, in rhythm to the rain outside._

 _It was always hard starting over. She was an awkward person at heart and craved a stability she could never have. It was harder still with the idea of what she would have to do for the foreseeable future._

 _She was anxious and unhappy at the thought of the Cullens, of having to be around them and watching them without letting them know she was watching them. She would never be able to let her guard down and the idea was already exhausting to her._

 _She would go to school, pretend to be normal, ignore the crawling feeling of being so close to death incarnate, and go home, listen to Renee and Charlie fight, comfort her little sister when they did, and repeat, until Charlie would inevitably announce their next mission, and drag them all to the other side of the continent and start everything all over again._

* * *

 _She ignored all of that and reassured herself with what she knew._

 _This was only temporary. She would go to school, make sure the Cullens weren't a danger. Then she would graduate with the youngest Cullens, after which the school would be safe, and her family would be free to leave again._

 _It was all laid out so perfectly that the Cullens would have no idea they even existed before they were gone again._

 _And she was sure. Everything would go to plan._


	5. reasons

" _What's going on inside your head? You left me unaware, you left me unaware, unprepared!"_

 _-"Taking Responsibility," Kilo Kish_

* * *

 _He only saw a hunter once. In his dark days._

 _The Monster remembers because he had almost died. The Monster remembers, because it is impossible to forget, the scent that had burned his throat and sent him to attack without thinking._

 _He had not won that fight. The long scar on the side of his ribs was a testament to that._

* * *

He did not pay the witch stories much attention when Carlisle had recited them all in those first days when he was a newborn, absorbing every detail he could about his new life. He took Carlisle at his word that they were all extinct, a thing of the past. Even then, Edward had thought that the hunter stories had been greatly exaggerated. What could they be really, other than superstitious rumors? The idea that anything could exist that could destroy a vampire was laughable to him even then.

He should have paid more attention.

What else did this life teach him? All the legends were real. All of them. They had to be, if he was sitting right there.

* * *

" _The male hunters did not have it, whatever it was. Something in their genetics, some kind of innate defense that evolved over generations…"_

 _Carlisle's voice trailed off, his golden eyes brightening as they always did at the prospect of new knowledge._

" _If only I could have analyzed a bit of blood, we could know so much more. I'd be willing to wager they had 24 chromosomal pairs, rather than 23, like the humans do. Rather than our 25."_

" _But they were human?"_

 _Edward was sitting politely on the floor, legs crossed, but his mind was already on the run he would take later that night hunting. The speed was exhilarating— he could not get used to it and he hoped he never would._

 _It was hard to sit still in one place, learning about chromosomal pairs._

" _Externally, yes. The stories say that they appeared as human on the outside. Their senses were slightly more sophisticated than normal humans— obviously, with an extra chromosomal pair. But of course, nothing compared to that of a vampire."_

 _Edward frowned. "I do not understand. They_ hunted _vampires?_ Successfully _?" Sarcasm found its way into his voice, despite his efforts to be polite. But the idea was downright ludicrous._

" _You see… it was the females." Carlisle's eyes glinted. "The males were easier to kill. It was the females that were absolutely lethal."_

 _The idea was mindboggling. "Why?"_

" _I'll give you a hint. The Volturi called them witches."_

 _For a second, Edward's mouth fell open._

 _But then logic quickly replaced his surprise, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes._

 _Carlisle continued, either unaware of his son's growing skepticism or, more likely, choosing to ignore it._

" _They might have been the first to coin the term, actually. Witch hunts took place with the humans, of course, but they were rather unsuccessful. They usually ended with the burning of an innocent girl at the stake for some completely inane reason. But the Volturi turned actual witch-hunting into sport. It had started with the Romanian dictators in the early 15_ _th_ _century, but the Volturi were the ones who finished the hunter race off. They must have been terrified of them," Carlisle mused._

 _His eyes were glazed over, his mind centuries in the past._

 _Edward scoffed. "Witches are real?"_

 _Carlisle didn't even blink. "So are vampires, as you know."_

"Magic _is real?" Edward raised his eyebrows, doubting the supernatural stories for the first time since Carlisle changed him._

 _He couldn't hold back his disbelief._

" _That sounds like illogical nonsense. It's just— just— unscientific. Yes, vampires are real and it_ is _something of a misnomer— but we are the natural predators at the end of the food chain, opposite to humans," he ranted, incredulity finding its way into his voice._

" _Magic cannot be_ real _."_

" _And it isn't," Carlisle said patiently. "But—" He leaned forward._

" _Is it really so hard to believe that the same natural world that created you and me to hunt_ them _," he gestured all around him, as if to gesture to all of humanity, "also gave them some natural ability to defend themselves?"_

" _The humans get a lot of things wrong," Carlisle continued. "Witches— the female hunters, as they were so called—didn't exist to curse children or ride broomsticks and dawdle with cauldrons— they existed for the sole reason of hunting_ us _. To protect the humans— to protect_ themselves _."_

" _So witches…" Edward struggled to say the word aloud without feeling ridiculous, "…evolved from humans?"_

" _It's my theory, yes. They must have evolved as some kind of subset of human— nature's evolutionary response to even out the predator concentration. There used to be more of us than there are now."_

 _Edward's face scrunched up. "It just seems so unlikely."_

" _Think about it," Carlisle pressed on. "What happens to a population of predators that outnumbers the amount of available prey?"_

 _He considered for a second, feeling, as he so often did around Carlisle, like a reluctant student._

" _The available prey decreases… and the predator population cannot sustain itself."_

" _Exactly," Carlisle said, clapping his hands together. "If there are too many lions hunting a limited population of lambs— and the lions keep making more lions, and the lambs keep getting slaughtered…"_

" _The lions starve. And die off," Edward finishes._

" _As well as the lambs," Carlisle adds. "But what if the lamb evolved somehow? What if the lamb, through time and natural selection, learned to evade the lions? For example, what if a small part of the lamb population developed venom, a venom that was lethal only to the lion population?"_

 _Edward's new mind did the math in a second. "The lion population would decrease but not completely. Because they could keep reproducing."_

" _Exactly," Carlisle said. "The original population of lambs you started with would be saved from extinction. The venomous lambs would reproduce offspring, and that offspring would prevent the lion population from getting too big. Essentially avoiding a scarcity in food source."_

 _Carlisle moved his hands in front of him, like a scale evening out. "And nature would rebalance itself."_

 _Edward frowned, still not understanding. "But you say magic and venom…"_

 _Carlisle nodded patiently, encouraging him to continue._

" _Is that the same thing?" He asked._

 _Carlisle gave him a wry smile. "That's the essential question that the stories don't seem to cover. There were rumors propagated by the Volturi… that the female hunters, the so-called witches… had a very specific scent in their blood. And a very specific taste."_

 _Carlisle's words sent a thrill through his spine and a burn in his throat. Still so strong in those early days._

" _The stories vary. Some say that the female hunters were born venomous and their blood would kill a feeding vampire. Others say that drinking a witch's blood was the sweetest blood you could taste, better than human blood. Some say that their venom was created using their own blood, which they then infused into their weapons. Others claim that the females could obscure themselves completely from a vampire's senses, like a cloak that blocked all sound, all sight, all scent. That they could even block vampire_ gifts _."_

 _That last thought disturbs him more than the others._

" _But why would the Volturi spread rumors about witches?"_

 _Carlisle frowned. "Maybe they were really trying to warn others of our kind of the risk they posed, like a public safety announcement. Or maybe they just wanted to offer some incentive."_

" _Incentive to what?"_

" _To capture them. And bring them to Volterra. Alive."_

 _Edward frowned. "For what purpose?"_

 _Carlisle sighed. "Who knows? In all my time there, I never saw one. To feed? To kill? To experiment on? Maybe they simply wanted to study them and further their knowledge about the supernatural world." Carlisle's lips thinned, like he didn't really believe that._

" _Whatever the reason, they were quite serious about it. The Volturi would pardon vampires who had committed grievous crimes in exchange for captured hunters and huntresses, brought to them alive."_

" _The Volturi experimented on them?" Edward asked, something akin to horror in his voice._

 _Fear thrilled up his spine, rare in his new body. The Volturi seemed ominous to him, shrouded in shadow and mystery. He hoped he never came across them._

 _Carlisle's face was grim._

" _I don't know for certain. But whatever the reason, the Volturi eradicated the hunters centuries ago."_

* * *

Edward Cullen has never shown a spotlight on himself, has never given any indication or acknowledgment that the people around him exist.

The people around him give him furtive, searching looks as he tries— and fails— to blend in with the yellowing plant in the corner of the hospital waiting room.

 _what are you doing?_

Alice's text chirps over and over again in his pocket— the same message 10 times in a row. He ignores it for the tenth time in a row.

Why is he here?

His vampire brain fires off three explanations in a second.

The first reason shines as an easy number one.

His family could be in danger. The extinction of the hunters is now up for debate, what with every suspicious thing he's seen today that is not adequately explained by anything else currently flashing in rapid succession in his brain. Steroids? Bitten by a radioactive spider? Nothing else fits.

It falls to him out of all four of his siblings— he is the oldest, the most advantageous (and not very debatably, the most responsible)— to make sure there is no threat. To play his role as the family lookout and gather a reasonable conclusion before he sounds the alarm bells.

Besides. He knows his brother, and Jasper takes no risks. It would not do to be inadvertently responsible for the Swan girl's death merely because he had jumped the gun and cried wolf when in reality, all the girl could be guilty of is having a bland scent and empty mind. Unconvincing, but still a possibility. However, that explanation still leaves the miraculously healed lips with a giant question mark.

The second is a bit more complex, riddled with Alice-sounding rebuttals, but easily circumvented. The Swan girl hit her head _hard_. The head which, as of right now, is still filled with the secret of _why the hell_ he cannot hear anything happening inside of it. Is it related to reason number one? Is she just defected? Was she dropped too much as a child? It's a valid fear, to not want the human to die by desk injury and take that agonizing secret to the grave with her before Edward has a chance to pry it out.

Which leaves the third reason, and admittedly the weakest.

School is boring. Bella Swan is not.

His phone chirps again.

 _what are you dooooooooooooing?_

He rolls his eyes and shoves his phone in his pocket, firmly deciding to keep it there.

His phone goes silent.

She lets it drop for now, but he still sighs because he knows Alice, and he knows that she has never let anything drop in her entire existence. She'll corner him the second he gets back, demanding the details of why in the world he came here today. He mulls over whether or not she'll swallow reason number three.

He sidesteps the crowd easily, once they're distracted by the entrance of Chief Burke.

The Chief looks worn, skin drooping more than usual. Even from here, Edward can smell the dry tang of whiskey that clings to his skin. The Chief gives the waiting room a sweeping glance and some of the more weaker-willed students scatter away, back to class, as he walks forward to speak to the receptionist.

Edward glides through the double doors with no one the wiser. He knows the entire hospital personnel by first and last name, from the Chief of Surgery to the maintenance workers. He finds an ally easily enough.

"Skipping school, are we?"

Nurse Peters sits behind a desk, clacking away at a keyboard. She doesn't even look up. A brief brush against her thoughts tells him she is in her usual state of murderous annoyance with anyone who breathes in her direction. He has always enjoyed her immensely.

"It's healthy to skip, every once in a while."

"Your dad gives you too much leeway."

Edward grins. "Is he back there with Bella Swan?"

"As per HIPPA regulations, I can neither confirm nor deny this," she drones, at the same time she nods her head up and down, her tight curls bouncing in her ponytail. Edward grins again.

"ANYONE IN HERE BY THE TIME I TURN AROUND WILL BE WRITTEN UP FOR TRUANCY!" They hear the Chief bellow behind the doors.

Nurse Peters sniffs in irritation.

"Damn high school dicks," she mutters under her breath. "Glad those days are over."

He grimaces at the private irony. A quick sweep of her thoughts gives him a peek of the screen she's looking at. Another peek gives him the room number.

"Nurse Peters, you are a credit to your profession," he says, making his way towards the elevators.

"Go back to school," she calls after him.

Once inside the elevators, he presses the button for floor three and takes a moment to appreciate the bizarreness of the situation.

Truant vampire in an elevator, going to spy on his vampire doctor dad, who is currently examining a potential-witch with anger problems who may or may not be able to miraculously heal injuries. (Thinking back on what he has heard of Bella Swan in gym, he sincerely doubts the claim of agile, lethal vampire huntresses more than ever.)

The elevator dings when he is suddenly filled with a moment of pure doubt.

Was he being ridiculous?

The stories could be just that. Stories. Maybe he's just been so exhausted with day-to-day life, so _bored_ with the mundane everyday routine, that he's widely making up incredible stories with no basis in reality. Maybe he's just starved for something, _anything_ , to happen, to distract him from how he's been feeling for the past few decades, like— like—

(monster)

Well. Like he's been feeling.

 _Or maybe_ , a tiny voice whispers in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Alice, _you have just been looking for an excuse to find Bella Swan interesting ever since she walked into that cafeteria_.

He should have told his family he couldn't hear her thoughts. He still can't quite articulate why he didn't.

It could even be called unfair, when he has so many of their secrets already, to leave out such an intriguing one of his own. But he had opened his mouth to say it when something inside him just— stopped.

 _I'll be leaving them in a few days_ , he thought. _I'll be going off on my own again, for the first time since_ —

(monster)

Well. Since last time.

Bella Swan could be used as a reason to keep him here, stuck in Forks. Esme would push at the mystery, desperately grasping at anything to get him to stay. Jasper would needle him into the necessity of keeping a lookout for something never before encountered. Everyone else would jump on the bandwagon and his plans to leave would be delayed.

So why is he here now? Encouraging this mystery that could keep him trapped here for another decade, if the past had anything to show for it.

He hovers at the foot of the elevator, wondering if he should just turn around and go home. Grab the suitcase that's been sitting by his window for weeks. Leave his perfect family. Go.

Then he distantly hears the sound of Bella Swan tripping over her own feet.

His uncertainty evaporates. Distantly, quick, hurried footsteps make their way down the hall. Toward him.

It instantly occurs to him that he has no plan.

The girl turns the corner and almost runs straight into him.

Bella careens backwards and stumbles into a plant on a rickety stand that goes crashing. He instinctively reaches out to catch it and sees Bella lurch back again when she realizes who's in front of her, eyes wide and mouth completely agape. He thinks the look on her face is funny until he realizes she is frightened.

They both freeze in the middle of the hallway.

Bella stares at him like he has three heads and he stares back, trying to decide what expression he should settle on. Is it better to be terrifying? Approachable? Unremarkable?

He's taking too long, so he decides he probably just looks dumb.

It also occurs to him he is still awkwardly holding a plant and probably gawking. He sets it down at his feet and nudges it to the side of the hallway with his foot. Bella takes this all in with the expression of someone who has just glimpsed a three-headed monster.

She finally snaps out of it and begins to make her way around him towards the elevators, her eyes on the floor and mumbling something that could be "excuse me."

"Bella, wait."

The words are out of his mouth before he can call them back.

She halts mid-step, her eyes skittering nervously to the elevators and back to him, like she's thinking of making a run for it. Is he really so intimidating?

His suspicion grows. She is reacting just as someone like her could react. If he's right. She's reacting like he's her worst nightmare.

A tiny little part of him feels bad about it. The bigger part of him is fascinated.

"Um," she says.

The plan falls into his head.

"Do you need a ride back to school?"

Bella fidgets with the strap of her backpack, nails bitten to the quick. She looks like she is seriously considering bolting down the hallway when it seems to occur to her how weird she's reacting. She makes a visible effort to control her face that Edward watches with fascination. She is really a terrible actress.

"I was just gonna walk," she mumbles.

Right on cue, thunder booms overhead and the rain pounding on the ceiling increases in volume. They look up in unison— Edward grinning and Bella glaring.

"Suit yourself."

The elevator ride down is deadly quiet.

Bella pushes the last button and stares at the floor. He takes a quick peek at her from his periphery and makes a long mental catalog of injuries. Black eye, cut above cheekbone, bruise on left cheek, bloody knuckles and fingernails, deep gash near the top of her scalp that looks like it barely got away with needing stitches, dried blood on the edges of her face where she didn't quite wipe it away. But besides all that, she's paler and more tired looking than he's ever seen her. She is truly not having a good day.

Her heart skitters faster than a rabbit and he can hear the sound of fluid moving through her veins. But that's weird too. It's not the gushing geyser it usually is, the sound that would send all his senses screaming. It's more like a hum, a trickle. Muted. All it does is send a vague burn down his throat that is ridiculously easy to ignore. Elk smells more appetizing.

His suspicions don't sound nearly as ridiculous as they did when she wasn't standing right next to him.

The elevator dings too loud in the stilted silence and she flinches. He steps out easily but Bella scans the waiting area with frantic eyes, like she's checking for snipers. He can hear her quiet exhale of relief when she finds it mostly empty and deems it safe enough to leave the elevator— just a few random people sparsely seated here and there for perfectly valid reasons, the teenage vultures back in class. Chief Burke is nowhere to be seen— a quick mental sweep tells Edward that he is on the second floor, arguing animatedly with Tyler Crowley's mother.

Over Bella's head, he sees Nurse Peters frowning at both of them from way across the reception area behind the sheet of glass separating _Waiting Area_ and _Admissions_ , mouthing something to him that looks like _where the fuck are you going with my patient_?

He waves at her. Bella walks quickly through the waiting area hunched in on herself, like she's trying to make herself tiny. He wonders if she is even allowed to leave yet. Probably not.

What must be terribly frigid wind slams into them as soon as he opens the door, the rain coming down hard. He makes his way to his perilously parked Volvo without looking behind him. He hears her steps falter and he doesn't have to be a mind-reader to sense her indecision behind him— walk the five miles back to school in the freezing rain or get into the car with the unpredictable death machine?

He's not surprised when she gets into the passenger seat and slams the door, expression curiously morose.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

That is surprising.

"It's no problem."

He flicks the ignition and peels out smoothly. He bypasses three lanes of traffic in a second and merges onto the one highway that cuts in the middle of everything in this town.

Bella clutches at the door handle like she's going to leap out.

"Can you not do that?"

The sharp tone of her voice surprises him, and he looks over only to find her breathing shallowly and looking a little green. Not out of the norm for a head injury but he has no idea if she even would react normally to that.

"Do what?" He has absolutely no idea.

She grits her teeth. She looks like she regrets opening her mouth and she rests her forehead on the cool window.

He looks down at the odometer, going a perfectly sane 90 miles an hour. He takes a sharp turn and he hears her actually retch a little in her throat.

Oh.

He slows significantly down and she relaxes minutely. He makes a mental note to remember that for next time.

He scoffs silently.

 _Next time, you fool_?

Bella breathes a little better but her color is still bad. They are more than halfway to the school when it occurs to him he is nowhere near finished with his time with her.

He makes another turn, much more carefully than he just did, the opposite direction of Forks High School.

"Sugar."

Bella gives him another look that questions his sanity.

"Sugar," he says again. "It helps."

"Helps what?"

He shrugs.

"My father is a doctor. He force-feeds everyone before they leave."

She makes a strangled sound.

Terrible actress indeed.

"Well, _I'm_ starving," he lies easily.

Bella bites down on her lip and turns white with either anger or fear.

He frowns at the road. It's not as satisfying as it usually is, being right. That bothers him.

Bella stiffens in her seat and says no more.

The silence grows again.

They're been attending the same high school with a student body of less than 400 for more than a year. She has sat next to him in biology for nearly half that time. They have been seating partners and done lab work, group projects, and assignments together. This is the longest conversation they have ever had.

He pulls into a diner off the highway right as the silence starts to get painful.

He leaps out of the car, quickly pulling on his hood against the pounding rain. He is fully expecting having to wheedle Bella out of the car but when he sees her through the windshield, he isn't expecting to see the look on her face.

She is not looking at him. She is staring behind him with a heartbreaking look, eyes reddening and already starting to swell. He turns around, scanning the area for the culprit but all he sees is the rinky-dink diner, wide grimy windows streaked with rain that show only a couple of elderly clients with an equally elderly waitress, seated inside.

He makes his way slowly to the other side of the car, completely hating the fact that he can't read her mind. That frustration has only been steadily increasing in intensity.

He reaches for her door but she opens it before he can. She clears her throat and blinks quickly, trying and failing to push away tears.

She doesn't get out, just stares at his muddy shoes instead of his face.

" 'M not hungry."

Then she slams the door shut, the rain pouring down the window blurring all sight of her face.

He stands there stupidly for a second, his hands feeling large and awkward at his side.

 _What did I do wrong?_

He gives her another moment before he decides she's not getting out. He makes his way towards the diner anyway. At least he can get her one of those grotesque sugary drinks that are 99% corn syrup as an apology for whatever fault he just committed.

He ponders the disappointment this causes him, deeply disturbed by it. He is uncomfortably aware that he does not want to add to Bella Swan's misery.

He walks into the considerably warm diner, the volume going up several decibels from the significant quiet he just walked away from. He immediately goes up to order, ignoring the incredulous looks he gets as he walks in, his indifference second nature by now. Their awe at his physical appearance never made sense to him.

The elderly waitress at the register looks incredulous too, but she is not looking at him. She's gazing openmouthed out the window, where Bella is sitting in the car— head resting against the window, bruises vivid against her face.

"That _can't_ be Isabella?"

The waitress, who Edward sees from her name tag is named Miriam, has her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

Edward frowns at the woman. Her thoughts are a spiral of surprise combined with high anxiety, her brain repeating the image of Bella's bruised face over and over. He needs her to focus.

"You know her?" he asks kindly.

It does the trick. Miriam finally looks over at him, her wrinkly face scrunched up in anxiety. She is old and simplistic enough to not notice— or possibly not care about— Edward's unusually symmetrical face.

The colorful jumble of her mind finally fixates on a memory he can follow.

 _The table at the corner seats four, a charming, picturesque family. Two youthful parents seated with two lovely, well-behaved daughters. She makes their way over to their table, smiling at how the older girl's face lights up at the sight of blueberry cobbler._

 _The Chief sits up, smacks his lips and rubs his hands together. She likes him. Such a kind man. Always tips generously._

" _Blueberry_ again _? Don't you two wanna try something new, every once in a while?" The mother teases easily._

 _The teenager grins at her mother with a blue-stained mouth, cobbler already halfway demolished._

" _Nah."_

The memory taints with the woman's sadness and he cuts it off, surprised to find himself standing at a very different time and place. The warmth of the memory bleeds away and leaves him feeling off kilter. Even the walls look greyer, the light from the lamps a little dimmer. Bella is still sitting in the car.

Oh.

"But whatever happened to her face?" The woman looks positively distressed.

"Accident. May I get a Coke?"

The woman tears her eyes away from the window and visibly shakes herself. She turns to the jumbled counter behind her while he fishes the sleek, black card out from inside his coat pocket. Miriam turns and places a lemonade bottle in front of him. He pauses in swiping his card, raising his eyebrows.

The woman nods her head wisely.

"She likes lemonade."

He pauses, considers, then takes it. Miriam sighs sadly.

"Poor dear. I'll be going tonight. You know," she says significantly.

He swipes the card quickly, tipping more than generously.

"She won't. Thanks for the lemonade."

He leaves, bell dinging on his way out. Bella looks up like she can hear it from inside the car through the rain, which is now abysmally heavy. He forgets to add that to his list of suspicions.

Bella is paler than before, if that's even possible. She still won't look at him.

He can physically feel the tension coming off of her in waves when he slides into the driver's seat. He keeps his gaze firmly on the steering wheel when he hands her the lemonade. He doesn't want to see her look of complete surprise and feel that same strange feeling.

But she takes too long. When he glances over at her, she is eyeing the bottle like she has no idea what it is.

He sighs.

"I thought you'd feel better with some sugar. I'd bet anything you have a concussion."

Bella's complete look of shock could be funny if it wasn't so insulting. After a moment of what he can tell is some extreme consideration, she takes it. She immediately opens it and takes a large gulp, glancing over at him with a hint of a challenge in her eyes.

The fact that she feels the need to do so gives him a strange sort of gloominess that he does not understand. Miriam's memory is still clinging to his brain like a bad song.

Time to go. His plan to confront her all but vanishes. It wouldn't do to have the poor girl pass out from fright right in his car.

Besides, he thinks, glancing over at Bella's war-weary face, she looks about ready to keel over.

The inside of the car feels the same to him as the frigid outside, but when he sees Bella's breath fog when she exhales, he curses himself for forgetting to leave the car running. He turns it on, immediately blasting the heat.

He'll remember next time.

* * *

Edward Cullen pulls into the parking lot, steering them straight to her truck. When she sees the familiar chipped red paint and dented bumper, she feels, for the first time today, some slight relief from the impossible stress of today.

Getting in the car with him was almost too much. Seeing the diner again was unbearable.

They were there, just two days before it happened. Eating blueberry cobbler on Thursday, just like always.

She wondered if he knew that, right when he took that familiar turn that warned her where he was planning on taking her. She wondered if he could be that cruel.

Then she decided she didn't care.

She was hurt. She was tired. She was exhausted.

And she didn't care about much anymore. She would have never gotten in the car if she did.

Which reminds her.

She reaches deep into her backpack when he pulls the car to a stop, feeling through the embarrassing mess and ignoring the press of Edward's eyes on her. She finally pulls out a wrinkly five-dollar bill.

He frowns when he sees it. She shoves it into the cupholder closest to him, the other still holding her half-empty bottle.

"For the lemonade."

Surprisingly, he rolls his eyes.

"It was only a dollar, Bella. And you don't have to pay me back."

(you don't get to call me that, leech)

(if you need me, you know where to find me)

(I thought you'd feel better with some sugar)

He held out the lemonade and she was thinking of before. Of Carlisle. Of the way he offered his help. The word that came to her mind.

 _Incomprehensible_.

"For the ride then."

She slams the door shut before he can say anything else. Her keys are already in hand, ready for her quick getaway. She needs to leave before the classes start to clear out.

The Volvo pulls out as she fidgets with the lock. She does not look back.

The inside of the cab is freezing but it's still the sweetest relief when she steps in and the blast of frigid wind disappears. It would have been utter misery, walking back in this weather.

She still can't understand his motive, what reason he could have for driving her all the way back here. The only one that made even the slightest bit of sense was that he was trying to get her alone.

But no. He gave her a ride. He drove slower. He bought her lemonade and turned up the heat.

 _You are a monster or you aren't, Bells. Remember that_.

The whole ride here, she was expecting him to kill her. She was _waiting_ for it.

So why did she get in the car?

* * *

The drive home is the least miserable part of her day, at least until she slams the brakes to avoid crashing into a banged up black pickup truck that is blocking the entrance to her driveway.

She groans, loudly and obnoxiously, banging her already concussed head on her steering wheel repeatedly. She hopes he sees.

Jacob Black gets out of the driver's seat, entirely too smug at being fifteen and being caught driving. He squints against the pounding rain and gives a little half wave as she reluctantly rolls the window down as he makes his way over to her truck.

"Hey Bella, sorry about this but Dad threatened me on pain of death if I didn't go along with his plan to kidnap you for the day— _whoa_ , what the hell happened to your face? You trip again?"

Bella grits her teeth. Billy Black waves from the passenger seat.

* * *

A/N: Happy apocalypse! have some vampire shenanigans and please stay safe and pleeeease leave reviews! They brighten up my life and my motivation to write 3


	6. wake

" _Let this dark night be done."_

 _-"Revival," Soulsavers_

* * *

 _(after)_

" _Is there anyone you can think of? Anyone? Anyone who might have wanted to do this to you or your family?"_

 _Deputy Burke— no. Police Chief Burke now— leaned forward with heavy, sad eyes._

 _What a way to receive a promotion, she thought, in the middle of the night after your boss and his family has died in what is the first murder in your town in decades._

(I can give you a whole species)

 _Bella sniffed, and touched the itchy gauze on the side of her face._

" _No. No one at all."_

* * *

"I don't understand why we had to move to such a horrid nothing-town."

Rosalie arranges her white flowers in a neat stack next to Edward's much larger stack, the task set to them by Mrs. Finnley.

The old bat is the retired school teacher in charge of the planning for the wake, and she's spent the last hour stalking around and barking orders like a drill sergeant to the group of volunteers, even reducing an already weepy looking girl to tears who is setting out candles at the table next to them. That, combined with Rosalie's constant stream of complaints, has him on his last nerve.

School was more of a drag than usual after he dropped off Bella in the parking lot. Skipping was out of the question, since his last class was with Rosalie and it was not worth the headache it would be if he had left her with no ride. He's spent this entire afternoon schooling his face to a perfect mask of boredom. Not that Rosalie was likely to notice how preoccupied he is but still. It couldn't hurt to practice caution.

Esme is somewhere on the other side of the gymnasium, helping the other teachers set out drinks— hot coffee and hot chocolate for the mourners for after the wake. The setting up is taking place inside while the actual event would be right outside the elementary school, in the cleared-out parking lot. Officers are already marking off the lot. Pouring rain or not, this wake was happening.

Edward grimly arranges the wilting flowers. Carnations were cheap and practical. Roses would be overselling it, according to Mrs. Finnley.

"I mean it," Rosalie continues, "have you ever seen such a _joke_?"

Rosalie is usually bitter today, even by her standards. Her sour attitude is seeping into Edward's already bad mood and he really wants her to stop talking, even though he silently agrees with everything she is saying.

"All these two-faced _grievers_ ," she says, with great sarcasm on the last word, "when you can hear them all squabbling like hens."

Edward huffs in agreement. The majority of the volunteers are mostly comprised of some of the shallowest, small-minded people he's ever had the misfortune of coming across. Maybe it was the perfect storm of circumstances that brought them all out, but the gossip in town had been a rage ever since the Swans were murdered. That was all anyone talked about. People treated this volunteer committee like it was the hottest ticket in town.

He and Rosalie had been volunteered, rather insistently, by Esme. She said she thought it would do them good to be involved, which was really code for _get along or I will make you get along_. They had been bickering more than usual lately. Rosalie had been annoyed with him ever since he had announced he was leaving and even he couldn't fathom the reason why. She refused to think about it in his presence and over the years, she had—to his great irritation— perfected the skill.

Edward pulls a crusty yellow petal off one of the flowers and flicks it towards Rosalie, who glares at him before rearranging her already perfect stack. Mrs. Finnley catches him and stalks over. She looks over their work with beady eyes and, finding nothing to criticize, stalks off to harass a tired looking teacher dragging chairs. Rosalie glares after her.

Edward is trying not to stare at a small cluster at a table in front of them, all mothers of their classmates, heads put together and clearly gossiping about the incident this morning as they arrange programs. Conspicuously absent from the planning is Mrs. Crowley, who was in charge of making the programs in the first place.

One of the women notices him looking and clearly sits up straighter, looking flustered. He can't resist the impulse to roll his eyes. He automatically drowns out her loud internal chatter— really, he's old enough to be her son. Or her grandfather, depending on how you looked at it.

Her companions notice her distraction and look over to see Edward watching. He drops his gaze, but he can hear very clearly, both mentally and audibly, as their conversation veers away from Bella and Tyler and towards him and his family, their eyes flicking back and forth between he and Rosalie.

 _Think they're too good to mingle with the rest of us…_

 _Think they're better than the rest of us just because they're rich and beautiful…_

 _And the wife, so high and mighty, won't come to any of my lunch invites, what a two-faced bi—_

He stops listening.

"Really, it's enough to drive anyone insane," he thinks aloud.

Rosalie snorts. "Are you talking about Bella Swan?"

Edward tries his best not to look defensive.

"Obviously."

Rosalie snorts again.

"Wish I could've seen that. I've been fantasizing about doing it myself."

"Why?"

"He asked me to the Winter Formal. Dick."

Edward laughs out loud at that, which she does not find amusing. She stalks off in a huff towards the bathrooms— abandoning her half-finished work— where Edward knows she will make her escape through the window.

Edward sighs at the unfinished pile of carnations they still have to get through. It's not a challenge at all but it's so tedious to do at a human speed. He could be doing much better things.

He can't find it in himself to feel any particular amount of enthusiasm for the wake— Rose was right. It's a sham. It's a chance for all of Forks to get together and pretend to mourn what they consider to be the most exciting thing to ever happen to them in years. The town is buzzing for all the wrong reasons.

Besides. He knows Bella won't be here today, which makes the whole thing very uninteresting.

"Where did your sister go?"

Esme comes up behind his shoulder, taking Rosalie's place, stripping off dead leaves and wilting petals and adding them to the growing stack with much more efficiency than either he or Rosalie have managed in the past two hours.

"You can't expect Rose to do menial labor for very long. It's very middle-class."

Esme sighs. He waits.

"I heard what happened today… at the school."

Edward, once again, tries not to seem to bothered.

"I never took you as a gossip, Mother," he teases gently.

"It's all too easy to pick up on things when one can hear across rooms," she says with an impish grin.

They continue sorting the flowers in silence for a moment. He waits for her to ask.

 _What really happened?_ She asks silently, much more seriously.

He tells her. He tells her the words Tyler left on her locker, about the people who were goading her along all day, the way she slammed the book into his face and how she lost her balance when Mr. Mason pulled her away and how she hurt herself too. He tells her everything he can about the first part of the day— the second part, the part where he drove Bella in his car, he keeps to himself.

It relieves some small part of the tension he's holding inside his head, being able to commiserate with his mother on how every shallow, cruel teenager just gets on his last nerve. Esme listens to his frustrated rant from beginning to end with no interruption.

"Psycho baby killer. He wrote that on her locker. Can you believe it?"

"How awful," she says quietly. "One would think there would be a little more compassion for someone so clearly in pain."

"We can't all be like you. You put us all to shame," he teases, trying to steer the conversation away from Bella.

"If not compassion, then decency," Esme says fiercely, ignoring his attempts as redirection. "It is enough to make anyone reach their breaking point."

He thinks he might be imagining it but Esme flashes him a look. It's gone before he can wonder about it.

"And what does Bella think about all this?"

Esme nods her head, gesturing at the hustle around them.

The chairs are set up, the tables laden with refreshment, programs, and candles. The flowers lie in neat stacks around them, now finished. The high school choir has arrived for the rehearsal where they will practice their arrangement of _Amazing Grace_. Esme's elementary class will arrive with their parents later, where they will observe as a group. Nessie Swan's old classmates.

He slyly avoids Esme's direct question; he wouldn't be able to say what Bella was thinking even if she were standing right next to him.

"She won't be here tonight."

Esme sighs sadly.

"I wish I could say I didn't understand why."

Edward can't help but agree, when he hears someone across the room distinctly say, _you'd think she'd tone it down if she were trying to look innocent._

Someone laughs.

* * *

The wake kicks off exactly at 6 pm. People have been gathering since four. He fidgets by the entrance where Alice had bullied him into handing out the stack of programs she was in charge of. There's not much point. The pouring rain will turn the stack into a pile of mush before long. Probably why Alice couldn't be bothered, now that he thinks about it.

His family is scattered around the crowd, their usual arrangement in their rare public outings. They had all agreed, long ago, they looked too strange to be standing next to each other in large gatherings.

"Welcome," he says, handing programs to people walking by. He thought _enjoy_ would be too morbid, even for him. And he's under Esme's strict orders to be decent tonight.

 _You can't blame them all for the actions of a few, Edward, remember that._

He disagrees.

Almost all of Forks has turned up tonight, much more people than he had expected. The incident with Tyler Crowley has spread like wildfire in the span of just a few hours and he can tell it must have contributed to more people showing up than expected. He can feel it in the air and read it in their minds— everyone is keeping their eyes peeled for the star attraction.

 _Where is Bella Swan?_

It's the question on everyone's minds right now.

There is a hum in the air, an excitement that makes him sick. People call out to each other, shouting greetings across the lot, laughter and chatter echoing before the event kicks off. He keeps his eyes peeled for Miriam, the waitress from the diner. He doesn't even try to find her through the chatter in his mind. He hands out the programs as quickly as he can, staring uninterestedly at huddled old ladies, a group of chatty teens, a tall man in a dark coat who is standing back watching everyone, and old familiar faces, people who've lived here for generations and generations.

"Welcome. Welcome. Welcome."

Thunder booms overhead. He hears the speaker blow out across the lot and Chief Burke, who is supposed to speak first, curses loudly. Esme is herding together her classroom with Emmett's help and Carlisle is supposed to arrive sometime soon from the hospital. Rosalie and Alice are standing somewhere off to the side.

He stands by himself for a while as the arrivees start to thin out. He rolls his shoulders, unusually irritated. His nerves are strangely frayed and it's an intense feeling he is unused to. He knows why. He is deliberately not thinking about the morning he had with Bella, not until he is safe in the privacy of his own room.

"What a disaster."

Jasper appears out of nowhere, sliding next to him.

"Hmmm," he replies, tossing the remaining stack of programs on the ground.

Chief Burke attempts to gather the crowd, his voice crackling on the microphone that is cutting in and out with the wind.

"Please— beginning to— everyone— today—"

Dozens of flowers are littered on the ground already, petals destroyed by the wind. The candles keep blowing out, despite best efforts to shield them from rain and wind. The few chairs are being knocked over as well and people shiver and huddle, waiting for a choir performance they won't hear.

"Good effort though," Jasper says carelessly. He wanders to the outskirts of the crowd where he, unnoticed by anyone, disappears into the trees.

But Edward knows his brother and he knows that for all his nonchalance, Jasper can't bear the crowd any better than he can. It's actually worse for Jasper than it is for him, having to feel everything they would be feeling secondhand. He is notorious for avoiding large gatherings.

"Boo."

Edward feels his jaw immediately stiffen in irritation. Great. So much for avoiding her.

"So, I saw something very interesting today…"

Alice dances up next to him, taking up the spot where Jasper just left. Do they plan these things? She is fiddling with a piece of paper, a tiny black line of handwriting written on it.

"You'll need this. Not sure why, but I _do_ get a feeling."

Edward just sighs. "Why?"

"Because you love me and would do anything for me?"

"Alice," Edward finally snaps, "what the hell do I need to be going over _there_ for?"

"You already know."

"Then I should clarify. Why would I _want_ to?"

"Come on," Alice says, finally starting her wheedling. "He lost a friend too. Just go there and be nice for a little bit."

"So I assume I drew the short straw?"

Alice rolls her eyes. "It just makes _sense_. I'm blind, Carlisle will be busy with the car accident in an hour, Jasper's too intimidating, Emmett would just be looking for a fight, and Esme has the kids to worry about today."

"And Rose?"

"Doesn't want to."

He kicks the mud in sheer bafflement over how everyone in his family can be so annoying _at the same time_. Alice frowns.

"It's not like he's a danger."

Edward glares. "It's not him I'm worried about."

Alice purses her lips. "The dogs won't violate the ceasefire. Not today, at least."

"Okay, you _definitely_ don't know that."

Alice grins. "But you're doing it."

"No."

"You are," she sings. She neatly folds the paper in a tiny triangle and shoves it into his coat pocket in a second.

"Make sure you shower when you come back. _Twice_."

"I will," he mutters darkly. "Right after I roll around in Rosalie's pillows."

* * *

When he gets to the town limit of Forks and approaches that imaginary line that marks the beginning of the reservation, he is unsurprised to find the armada waiting for him there.

"I hate you, Alice."

His phone buzzes.

 _:)_

He sighs and inches his foot on the gas. He drives slowly over the line, feeling the crawling animal anxiety of being cornered on the wrong territory. He decides to drive to Billy Black's house. Driving instead of running might not help them feel less threatened, but he figures it's the gesture that counts.

"Afternoon, Uley," he mutters.

He doesn't bother putting any cordiality in his voice, he knows it won't change any of their hostility towards him, no matter what he does.

The wolf running parallel to his car, obscured by dark forest, growls low in its throat. His foot is itching to slam the petal and race the dog, but he restrains himself. He'll be good today, if only for the sake of not disappointing Esme. The large black dog's paws thud heavily on the ground and behind that, he can hear two other rapid heartbeats racing after their alpha.

 _Bloodsucking leech_.

Edward grins darkly. Paul can goad all he wants for all he cares, he's not the one taking orders from a dog.

Despite his good-mannered driving, he is pulling into Billy Black's muddy drive in less than five minutes.

Stepping out of his car into the middle of La Push is no less of a shock than it was a year ago. He stares at the length of mysterious dark forest that surrounds him like something out of a fairytale, the only place in the entire world that was barred to him only a year ago. Even the air feels different here— something intangible and indefinable that hovers in the air. La Push is… mystical. Paranormal even. Though he's certain the three large werewolves stepping out of the clearing have something of a contributing factor.

Sam Uley stalks out of the dark forest in his wolf form, his large dark eyes staring straight into Edward's, never faltering. The other two— Paul and Jared, Edward remembers— hang further back along the edge guarding Sam's back, their glinting eyes reflecting strangely off Billy Black's porch light.

He doesn't have to be a mind reader to understand the threat inherent in Sam's eyes.

 _Tread carefully, Cullen._

Even in Sam's thoughts, the name comes out like an insult.

 _The boy has no idea._

Edward watches all three wolves take off into the forest, where he knows they will lurk until he leaves their territory. They're all rather overdramatic.

"I remember," he says into the night, rolling his eyes.

Walking up to Billy Black's residence takes a bit more courage than facing down three werewolves. He hesitates, hand over the door, before he knocks as politely as he can.

"It's open!"

He frowns, then makes his way in.

He only met the child once in parting exactly a year ago and he hadn't been too concerned with him then. Now he frowns at the strange images flashing in succession from the boy's mind before he even rounds the tiny hallway that leads into the living room— strange yellow cartoon characters he thinks he's seen somewhere before. The boy— Jacob Black— is laughing at the television.

"Embry what are— oh. Oh shit."

Jacob Black turns from where he is sprawled on the couch and sits up, his bag of chips flying all over the carpet. His eyes are comically wide and he looks behind Edward, as if expecting to see the entire family behind him.

"Um. Hello."

Jacob can't seem to stop staring with his mouth hanging open. Edward gets the first proper look at the future pack alpha. He has to admit, there's not much to be impressed by.

All he can see is a lanky, overgrown teenage boy who moves like he just grew very much in a short span of time and doesn't know how to coordinate all the extra growth yet. Jacob trips over his feet getting up and, after a pause, clumsily steps over the fallen chips to reach for the remote and press mute, at the same time muttering something about "old man" and "dementia."

 _A freaking Cullen in my house. Again. Guess hell froze over or the old man finally went crazy._

"I'm Jacob," he says, giving an awkward little wave. "Dunno if you remember. Hi."

"Edward. I remember."

It's hard not to be amused by Jacob, who is looking like he doesn't know what to do from here. He's about to speak and break the awkward silence when—

"DAD— IT'S FOR YOU," Jacob calls loudly enough to make him wince.

"We're back here," Billy Black's smooth voice calls from the kitchen.

 _We're_?

"They're in the kitchen," Jacob says with a roll of his eyes. Edward is confused by his annoyance and starts to listen for the reason when it immediately occurs to him—

He can only hear two minds in this house.

Shit. _Shit_.

He rounds the corner, his feet compelled to move without his permission.

"Ah. I thought Carlisle might send one of you up. I was expecting Esme, in all honesty," Billy says, with a twinkle in his eyes. Sitting directly across from him is—

"Bella and I were just doing some weaving here," Billy explains in an easy tone that betrays none of his unease, if there even is any, Edward wouldn't know, he can't focus on anything other than—

Bella, who is sitting at the table clutching a truly horrible mess of tangled wire and decorative feathers with white hands, looking at Edward with wide eyes like she just got caught doing something wrong and is waiting to be reprimanded for it.

Forget Billy Black, forget the future pack alpha, forget the three giant wolves lurking outside, the animal response thrumming through his body right now can only be the true response of a predator who just met its true natural animal rival.

How could he have ever doubted it?

"Am I allowed in now or are you two still gossiping over whatever it is you two gossip about," Jacob asks in a grumpy voice right behind his left shoulder.

"I actually have to go," Bella mumbles.

She stands and awkwardly begins to gather her things, including the strange half-wire-feather thing that is haphazardly bound together with twine.

"Wait," Billy says. "Take this one."

He wheels over to a drawer and pulls out a much more refined ornament of the same material, which Edward can now see is meant to be a dreamcatcher.

"Yours will need a bit more practice if you want it to work," Billy says with a grin.

Bella blushes deeply but takes it, her eyes nervously skirting from Billy to Edward and back to Billy, but with a slight split-second smile towards Billy that could be earnest.

"Thanks," she stammers, "And… thanks for the kidnapping, I guess."

Bella is darting behind him and around the corner before he can even try to work out what that means.

Billy turns his chair towards Edward and smiles genially, but with Bella gone, there is an edge behind it that wasn't there before.

"Jacob," he calls smoothly, his eyes never leaving Edward's, "Bella needs a ride back to her place."

"On it," his bored voice calls from the living room.

Jacob's mind is alight with curiosity— it seems he wasn't invited to Bella and Billy's little sit down. Edward can hear his plans to interrogate her the minute he gets her alone.

"Grab some milk on the way back, would you?" Billy's dark eyes glint as Edward narrows his in suspicion. What is it he doesn't want his son to hear?

"Fine," Jacob grumbles.

The two of them stand in the kitchen silently, appraising each other, listening for the front screen slamming and the roar of the ignition firing up.

Billy seems to relax minutely as the car peels out. He wheels himself to the other side of the room and begins bustling around the kitchen, spinning around smoothly with expert ease.

Edward is reminded irresistibly of Jasper's field tactics— _never approach the enemy on their own turf_.

It only now occurs to him that he shouldn't have acted so weird around Bella. Particularly around Billy Black, who would be privy to that kind of thing, especially seeing as how—

He freezes.

Especially seeing how close Billy and Charlie Swan were.

"Would you like some coffee? I know your— _kind_ don't partake but it always feels rude not to ask."

"You know."

It's no question and he feels so stupid for not even considering it in the first place.

Billy Black knows and _of course_ he knows. What other enemy would a vampire share against a hunter?

Wolves.

 _The enemy of an enemy is a friend._

"Know what," Billy says, and he doesn't even try to make it sound like a question. Even he knows the game is up and there is no point in trying to pretend with the other anymore. They know. They both know.

But even so, Edward is who he is, so he pries into Billy's thoughts with the force of a jackhammer to be absolutely _certain_.

Billy Black does not think in words or phrases but rather strong, intuitive emotion. All Edward can pick up on is the strong sense of protectiveness surrounding Bella in his thoughts, but it's directed somehow.

It's not that Billy believes Bella is not safe from him. It's that he believes _Bella_ is not safe from him.

Because it's _Bella_ who has reason to be harmed. Not because of what _he_ is but because of what _she_ is.

It's a slight— but necessary— distinction.

Billy Black knows exactly what Bella Swan is. He knows who and what was sitting in his kitchen. It is running through his mind with a certain type of resignation.

* * *

It is a strange and _rare_ feeling that only occurs once or twice in a lifetime. That feeling when the whole world rearranges itself— every truth, every belief, every certainty he thought he once knew, tips over and shatters in a millisecond, leaving behind a dark and unfamiliar world in its wake, one brimming with not only uncertainty but… _possibility_. A switch from walking dormant to a violent, brilliant state of _awake_. He felt it once when he was changed.

He feels it again now.

* * *

Billy Black takes no notice of Edward's internal breakdown. He wheels himself forward to the table, clutching his cup of coffee like a weapon. He gestures to the seat in front of him with hard eyes.

"Sit. And we can discuss this like rational beings."

Edward feels positively vibrating with some emotion he can't name. Excitement? Dread? Fear?

Billy Black calmly regards him and takes a sip of his coffee. His completely and ironically black coffee, Edward thinks with a tinge of hysteria.

He takes a somewhat shaky inhale and takes the seat across from Billy. He fidgets in his black coat and suit, feeling completely overdressed in Billy's shabby little kitchen. Which is not what he's supposed to be focusing on right now.

"Let's talk. Please. We have until Jacob returns with half a grocery store, minus the milk."

Billy leans back in his chair, looking entirely too calm for the situation, Edward thinks. The world has just changed. Nothing and everything is real, a new species has emerged and Billy, tribal chief to the Quileutes, is sitting and drinking coffee across from him like the world didn't just explode.

But fair. Two can play at that game and Edward has been playing long before Billy Black's grandfather was walking this earth on all fours.

"You know," he repeats, narrowing his eyes at the old man.

Billy stares back.

"And so do you."

Billy puts his mug down on the wooden table with slightly too much force. He slides his hands back to grip tightly at the edge of the table and Edward notices there is a distinct tinge of anxiety in his thoughts. There is concern, real concern, for Bella there.

He tries not to think about that awful night a year ago. The look on Billy's face when he found out about his friends and that everyone except Bella was dead.

"The only question here is what you are planning to do about it."

Edward stays silent, watching Billy consider him. Listening to the thoughts that Billy is trying so very hard not to think about.

 _Charlie Swan rolling in his grave, breathing fire, shaking the earth, his only living daughter dangling through life on the whims of an ancient, blood-drinking monster—_

 _Bella must be protected_ , is the final mantra running though Billy's head before Billy shuts him out entirely.

The old man has more control than most and Edward cannot help but be impressed in the middle of his intimidation. Their magic, or whatever made up the Quileutes, was older than even him. It shone in Billy's eyes right now and he would not win against it.

"Obviously your coven doesn't know. Or at least, not all of them. Otherwise, I'd expect Bella wouldn't have made it past the line. Or…" Billy's fists grip tighter, "you and your kind are planning to maul her the second she makes it back into your territory."

At those words, Edward hears the distant sound of thudding paws in the forest outside take off toward Forks. He bristles, feeling slightly out of control with this whole situation.

"There isn't any threat—"

"Or," Billy cuts across him, "there is some unknown reason you have not thought to share that information with your coven."

Billy watches his every expression carefully, and all he can do is stare openly back.

He thinks about the truth.

It was never in the plan to kill Bella. Watch her, track her, never turn his back on her, yes, yes and yes. But kill? That option fled his mind before he could even consider it and he hasn't even had the privacy or the time to even sit and consider _why_ exactly that wasn't in the plan in the first place.

He has never felt so unsure about what to do with his face.

But whatever expression is on it, Billy seems to see something and come to some kind of conclusion. He exhales heavily, the outpouring of relief strong even from where Edward is sitting.

"Sam," Billy mutters, wiping off his forehead. "Call them off."

Edward listens for the sound of Sam to take off after the other two wolves but strangely, he stays in place. Did the other wolves hear Billy too somehow? He'll have to reevaluate how far they can hear across distances.

"It was never the plan to tell them," Edward says smoothly. Whether or not it's a lie, he doesn't know.

Billy purses his lips.

"Hmm. And what does that say about your family? That you cannot trust them to not murder an 18-year-old girl the second they learn she might be… more than ordinary?"

Edward coolly brushes off the veiled insult with a flick of his fingers.

"You make it sound as if she has an aptitude for spelling, rather than she has the capability to slaughter me and my entire family if she so wishes."

Billy flinches and Edward tastes the sharp scent of fear in the air.

"You have a point. But what do you plan to do about that?" Billy asks tensely, fingers going white.

Edward shrugs his shoulders carefully.

"I only just found out today. As for informing my family, I hadn't gotten that far yet."

Billy grits his teeth, looking like he's not sure whether or not to believe him. Edward stares calmly back, using every bit of his mastered poker face.

They stare silently for a moment, at a standstill, before Billy seems to come to some mental decision.

He sighs heavily, the wrinkles on his face collapsing to reveal a stressed, weary man who (Edward realizes stupidly too late) just had an entire day of grieving. An entire year. And with him, at least, Edward has no doubt his grief is genuine.

"Edward," Billy says heavily, deflating, "I admit I do not want to spend this evening trading insults between our… kinds… especially after all this work at reconciliation. And especially not today."

Edward drops his gaze to the tabletop, at the mess of twine and feathers still on top.

"A year ago, we worked together to stop a horrible evil. Were it not for that, I would be ordering Sam to take Bella and run. I would be calling war over our heads. I would send my people to the death and you would send yours. There would be war between us and we would both lose. Greatly."

Billy takes a deep, careful breath and continues.

"And I would do that all. Not just to protect Bella. But to protect any human from the kind of viciousness that comes with the killing of an innocent. You may not wish to hurt the girl and I think I believe that you don't. I do not know this to be true with the rest."

"They wouldn't," Edward says quickly. Then he thinks of Jasper and says, "Carlisle wouldn't let them."

Billy narrows his eyes at the admission. "So some of them would try?"

Edward grits his teeth, mentally cursing his slip. "It's irrelevant. None of them know what she is."

"So my only reassurance that she will be safe is that you will not tell them? That they will not find out?"

Edward bites his lip, defeated. Billy had a point there. He wonders if, were the situations reversed, he'd trust the wolves to do the same.

It's a quick and painful _no_.

Edward can't even bring himself to challenge it. For what reason? What good would it do to reassure Billy that harming Bella was never in the plan? What could he possibly say that would make him believe anything he says?

As if Alice sent the thought straight through miles of dense forest straight into his head— he remembers the folded piece of paper in his coat pocket.

He never did read it or even try to surmise what it was for but he mentally throws up his hands and pulls it out anyway, a complete shot in the dark.

"Would this help at all?"

Billy frowns at the tiny folded piece of paper. He takes it carefully, making absolute certain, as always, that he does not even brush against Edward's fingers.

He unfolds it and frowns, reading carefully. He squints up at Edward when he's done and, after a brief hesitation, slides it back over to him.

Curiosity peaking, he reads it quickly. Then frowns.

 _Plan for three._

He flips it over. Nothing on the back.

"From Alice, I assume?" Billy's voice is absolutely neutral.

"Yes."

There is a tense moment where Billy just stares with nothing on his face. Edward counts the seconds.

"Alright. You have my trust. For now."

Edward blinks, stunned.

"Just one thing before you leave— it seems we are all evenly aware about each other— except one. Make sure Bella knows that you know what she is. Make it clear she should be watching her back."

He frowns, trying not to take offense.

"But I give my word. I'll keep her secret."

"Regardless. Tell her. Or I will. I doubt she'll find your word all that reassuring."

* * *

He drives home and— after rolling in Rosalie's satin pillows as promised— he takes three hot showers, reorganizes his music collection, deftly avoids his family coming home from the wake, wipes every window in the house clean— on both sides— vacuums every inch of his room, the stairs, the hallways (much to Emmett's great confusion), reorganizes his reorganized music collection, changes his clothes for the fifth time, takes another boiling shower, and finally, when he can't avoid it anymore, collapses on his bed and thinks about _what the hell he is going to do_.

Hunter.

Hunter.

 _Hunter_.

Edward mouths the word soundlessly, over and over again, safe in the privacy of his room, until it doesn't sound like a real word.

It's strange, but underneath the obvious predator defensiveness he feels at the knowledge that there exists something threatening to his existence, his _family's_ existence, not three miles away— he feels an undeniable _excitement_.

Something was happening.

Something was happening to _him_.

After all, it's him who holds this precious knowledge. It is his to choose what to do with it.

And what he wants to do is dangerous. What he wants to do is see what happens when he bites the bullet and tells Bella her secret is secret no longer.

He imagines how he would do it.

He could corner her at school. He could show up unannounced at her apartment he hears she lives in on the other side of town. He could wait by her truck. He could slide her a note in Biology. He could wait until lunch when the witnesses around them would be at its peak, wait until they were surrounded by the innocent precious humans that he knows she would not risk. But every option is risky. He can imagine them all easily ending in bloodshed.

It's whose blood that he isn't sure about.

"You done cleaning?"

Edward lifts his head from where he is sprawled on his bed. Emmett tentatively peeks behind his open door, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the unusually uncluttered floor of Edward's room.

"Yep."

Emmett heaves a dramatic sigh of relief.

"Oh good. I was worried you'd make me help."

Emmett grins as he easily ducks the pillow Edward launches his way. Then he does something out of the norm— he pads silently across the plush golden carpet and sits on the end of Edward's bed, uncharacteristically serious.

"Is there something wrong that I don't know about?"

Edward stills, shocked at such a weird question.

"What makes you say that?"

Emmett shrugs. "I dunno… you've just been— I dunno."

"What?"

"Just—" Emmett releases all his breath in one big _whoosh_. "You've been acting— _off_. It makes me feel like— maybe there's something I've missed? Something everyone else knows that I don't?"

He hears— both in Emmett's voice and his thoughts— that old insecurity of Emmett's resurface. That everyone else has caught on to something that he was just too slow to get.

Edward pauses, considering something else even more worrisome. If even Emmett, the most unobservant and unbothered of their small family, has noticed his strange behavior to the point that he felt the need to have a sit down with him about it— then he wasn't doing a good enough job at keeping them all in the dark.

And it is imperative, now more than ever, that they stay in the dark.

Billy Black's eyes narrow at him from somewhere in his mind.

He smiles widely— false and reassuring— at his brother.

"Look. I've just been organizing some things. I'm leaving soon and I just have to get everything ready."

"That's it?" Emmett frowns.

"Yep. That's it. Nothing dire, I promise."

Emmett frowns, considering this. Then he smiles widely at Edward, all worries immediately gone, swallowing the lie almost too easily. Edward only feels the tiniest twinge of guilt. It's easier than he would have believed to lie, even to Emmett, who would believe that the sky was actually green instead of blue if it was his brother who told him so.

He swallows down the guilt at the small betrayal of trust between them. If he was going to keep his word that Bella Swan's secret would stay secret, this was just the first of many betrayals he would make to his family.

He tries to ignore the deepening sense of foreboding as Emmett easily changes the subject to grill him on his uneventful (or so Edward claims) visit to La Push.

* * *

(one year ago)

 _Forks is awake._

 _The smell of the burning house drifted all over Forks— at least that what it seemed like to him but he could smell the smoke, the ash, the soot in the air all around him. His enhanced smell screamed with it, even as he ran through the forest like a shrieking ghost, thinking_ oh god don't let me be too late _._

 _In the distance, a wolf howled._

 _His phone buzzed._

Carlisle has her _, the text from Alice read._

Hurry.

 _He launched himself into the clearing where Emmett was already face to face with the largest black wolf he had ever seen in his life._

 _Emmett's snarls were ripping out of his chest and the wolf was on its hackles, ready to attack but it was clear that he— Sam Uley, Edward gathered frantically— realized he was desperately outnumbered. His large black eyes seemed painfully young._

" _Stop! It wasn't us! It wasn't us!"_

 _Esme shot out the trees behind him and ran straight between the wolf and Emmett, her hands out placatingly between them, her eyes frantic with panic— panic for Emmett, for the treaty, for the clear red haze that colored the sky only a few miles away._

Oh god oh god oh god oh god—

 _Edward listened instead, as hard as he could, for the rest of his family._

 _Rosalie and Jasper where running somewhere on the other side of Forks, tracking. Carlisle had one of the girls, Edward did not yet know which one had lived._

 _Alice was hovering in the middle, somewhere between all of it, watching, waiting, listening._

 _He could barely hear over the distance. It seemed like all of Forks was awake, screaming at the top of their lungs—_

Dispatch 902, fire reported at 184 6th Street, please approach with caution—

Sweetie, get away from the window—

Smoke, do you smell that? Wake up! Why does it smell like smoke—

Oh god what the hell is that noise—

We can't put it out, why the fuck won't it go out—

 _He zoned in on that voice. The police force was attempting to get closer to the blazing inferno that was swallowing the Swan residence whole. The fire ripped and scorched the house, the trees nearby catching and branches swinging towards the ground dangerously close to where Fork's single fire truck was attempting to put out the blaze._

 _The fire was so consuming it roared in the mind of the young officer, trying to hold the hose._

They're still in there— oh my fucking god, they're still in there—

 _He snapped back to reality at the sound of snapping jaws. Sam Uley had lunged at Esme's outstretched hand._

" _NO!"_

 _Emmett was terrifying. He had forgotten that somehow, in those quiet years._

 _His brother roared so loudly that it echoed in all directions like a gunshot. He lunged forward like a bullet and collided with the wolf, jumping at its back, grasping at the animal's neck, trying to keep the snapping jaws away from Esme. The wolf whined low in his throat before reaching behind and snapping at Emmett, trying to catch his face in a jaw that could crack stone._

" _STOP!" Esme screamed at the same time Edward shouted, "SAM!"_

 _Both Emmett and the wolf froze— Emmett in anticipation and Sam in shock— and Edward rushed on, desperate to get the point across._

" _It wasn't us. There were two outsiders passing through— their names are James and Victoria. They attacked without warning. We had no idea."_

 _The wolf shook Emmett off, who allowed himself to slide off the wolf's back. He rushed to Esme's side and crouched protectively in front of her. Esme just met Edward's eyes with wide, frantic eyes. He stepped forward closer to the wolf, who instinctively snapped. He stilled and reached out a steady hand, trying to look nonthreatening as possible._

" _Your territory is compromised. They likely passed through here. We can help you, before they attack anyone else tonight."_

" _We have their scent," Esme cut in. She stepped forward, pulling the grass-stained baseball shirt that Victoria had been wearing that evening with them at the clearing._

 _The memory made him sick._

 _The wolf hesitated, resting on his back legs, clearly ready to lunge backwards into the forest at any unsudden move. Esme stepped forward carefully, hand extended towards Sam's snout. Emmett made a low anxious sound in his throat and Edward could see why— it would be all too easy for the wolf to reach out and tear Esme's arm from her socket._

 _He can still remember the sight so clearly, like those long-forgotten nightmares he used to have— Esme's pale arm, almost glowing in the dim light, extended to a huge wolf with canines the size of daggers, the smell of smoke hovering all around them._

 _The wolf stepped forward slowly, his eyes dancing from vampire to vampire until he gave one tentative sniff._

 _He whined low in his throat, stepped backwards on his hind legs, and howled._

* * *

 _They seemed to glide like shrieking wraiths through the forest, side by side with a wolf from any child's worst nightmare. Monsters prowled Forks tonight._

 _Edward ran as fast as a bullet, the head of the group, straining to hear something,_ anything _, that would disprove everyone's worst fear._

 _That James and Victoria were long gone._

 _Eventually they stopped— he, Esme, and Emmett— automatically, right at the imaginary line that separated Forks and La Push._

 _The wolf galloped almost 50 feet ahead of them before jerking to a stop, spraying mud and tufts of grass everywhere. Sam looked confused at their sudden halt before looking around them with sudden realization. He froze, conflicted, until suddenly and unexpectedly, he did something that no wolf had done in generations, maybe ever._

 _He nudged his head, beckoning them forward._

Follow _._

 _Edward turned to his mother with wide eyes and Emmett did the same on her other side. They waited for her to make the decision._

 _Esme swallowed tentatively, then took that impossible first step onto their absolute forbidden territory. Edward and Emmett copied slowly, as if worried they would burst into flame on contact._

 _Sam huffed impatiently and bobbed his head again. They snapped out of their daze, pushing through the haze that made everything so dreamlike (so nightmarish) and the hunt was on once again._

* * *

 _They pushed through miles of forest, circling back. They combed the pitch-black beaches, the frigid and vicious water that crashed against the wide jagged cliffs of La Push and emerged soaking and unsuccessful. Rosalie and Jasper reported the same from the other side of Forks. Any trail of them was long gone, washed away in the sleet and rain._

 _They had failed._

" _Is the girl still alive?" Esme asked numbly from his side._

 _The three of them stood silent and dripping on the coastline, under strict orders from Sam not to move while he gathered the elders for word on what to do next. It seemed like they had stood in their own quiet eternity for hours while they could do nothing but wait, watching the unforgiving tide sweep across their legs, the rocky sand biting their bare feet._

 _Just last week, there was a party here. He overheard Mike Newton ask Bella if she was going, from across the cafeteria. He never did find out if she went or not._

" _I don't know."_

 _He remembers, for the first time in an eternity, feeling a whisper of memory a hundred years old._

Cold _._

* * *

 _The elders were gathered at Billy Black's house._

 _They followed Sam in his human form through the unfamiliar dark forest, somehow more lush, more dense, than Forks less than a few miles away. All urgency was gone from their movements, failure hanging over all their heads like an axe. It did no good to hurry now. All that was left was to put out the fire, recover the bodies, pray to their long-forgotten deities that the girl would push through surgery._

 _He was losing track of whose thoughts were whose, a strange exhaustion making everything hazy._

 _(they smiled, laughed together, extended a hand towards those who would rip a family to shreds—)_

 _They stepped into a clearing, a tiny patch of muddy grass flooded weakly with yellow artificial light from Billy Black's porch light._

 _Edward watched numbly as the Quileute chief wheeled forward into the porch— even the sight of six dripping vampires secondary on his mind— reached Sam, put his head into his hands, and wept._

 _They stood silently, Rosalie, Jasper, and Alice quietly joining the other three as they stood and waited to be acknowledged. He could hear the quiet, serious murmurings inside the house behind them but made no effort to listen to what was being said. He stood there with his family, jarringly out of place, even their pale skin like a beacon signaling to all a reminder of the unforgivable crime committed this night._

 _They stared at the ground, tactfully avoiding the sight of Billy's tears and Sam crouched down next to him, speaking quietly and clutching at his chief's shoulder._

 _Esme's phone vibrated quietly, breaking the spell._

 _Billy and Sam looked up with reddened eyes, the quiet murmuring stopped from inside the house, and all vampires turned to their matriarch, waiting for the verdict._

 _The world hung on the phone in Esme's hand, her eyes burning as Carlisle spoke on the other end._

 _She spoke quickly, hung up the phone, and looked to the chief with something like victory shining in her eyes._

" _It was Bella Swan. She pulled through."_

 _It was strange, and Edward could see it affecting Billy Black specifically, to celebrate one girl's survival while mourning the others. It was all they had been sure of— only one was pulled out of the fire alive. Edward could feel it in his thoughts— Billy did not know who he was hoping for and now it was too late to know. It would always be too late._

" _Is she hurt?"_

 _Esme gazed directly at Billy, compassion deep in her voice._

" _Yes. The fire was significant."_

" _But she will recover?" Sam asked in his deep, commanding voice._

 _Esme bowed her head. "My husband will ensure it."_

 _Sam rounded towards them, stepping forward slowly, his eyes darkening impossibly further. He was taller than every single one of them. Even Emmett._

" _So… she didn't die. She'll just wish that she had."_

" _Sam," Billy sighed, in a voice that sounded a hundred years old._

 _Esme stiffened, straightening up. Of all the vampires in the clearing, Sam addressed her. She was the one in the middle, the one the others hovered around. She was the one who stepped forward over the line. She was the one who delivered the verdict. She was the one who held the grass-stained shirt in her hand._

 _The crime demanded answer. Demanded blood. It was the only thing on which their two separate species could ever reach a mutual understanding._

 _Both wolf and vampire stared each other down. There were those few long, tense seconds that exist only before a war is declared before a small figure stepped forward in Edward's periphery, shoulders hunched and head low._

" _It was my fault," Alice said in a tiny voice._

" _Alice, no it wasn't," Esme said consolingly, a hand extending towards her shoulder._

" _Don't say that," Jasper said immediately, rushing forward to stand by her, wary eyes on Sam a few feet away from her._

" _It wasn't," Edward said quietly._

 _She looked up at this, at Edward, and he could only meet his sister's eyes and understand that they had both failed. A mind-reader and a fortune teller. What possible reason could they give for their failure?_

" _How do you have their scent?" Sam demanded._

" _They passed through earlier this evening," Esme explained quickly. "We made an attempt towards civilized interaction. It is our custom to do this whenever others of our kind pass through here. It's important that they understand our survival here depends on them refusing to hunt in the area."_

" _Yes, so civilized that they tore a little girl apart hours later," Sam snapped._

" _We had no way of knowing," Esme said, sounding close to tears if that were possible. "They seemed amiable enough."_

" _Something must have changed their course at the very last minute," Alice said quietly._

 _They all looked up at that, the vampires with dawning realization and the wolf with frustration._

" _What the hell are you talking about?" Sam snapped._

 _Alice stepped forward once again, brushing off Jasper's restraining hand. She looked tiny in the shadow of the wolf._

" _I can see the future. Glimpses, at least, when someone's course of action is decided. It can change on a whim."_

 _She gestured towards him._

" _And Edward can read minds."_

 _Sam looked between them both, fury draining away to suspicion, looking as if he wasn't sure whether or not to believe them._

" _How do you think I knew your name?" Edward asked, finally breaking the silence. "How do you think we grew aware of the hunt? Alice saw it. I heard it."_

" _I could only feel that something was very wrong," Alice said in a small voice. "I couldn't tell exactly what was going on. Everything was fuzzy, everything was uncertain."_

 _She shook her head back and forth, her eyes a million miles away._

" _I'm sorry."_

" _Wait," Sam snapped. "You are saying you have these— these_ abilities _— and you let them pass through anyway?"_

" _That is what we are trying to tell you," Edward snapped back, his stress finally breaking through. "There was no indication anything was wrong. We never would have let them pass if we did. That is why Alice said that something… something must have altered their course last minute."_

 _His family looked at each other over Alice's bowed head, identical expressions of worry on their faces. This was the first time in almost 90 years that Alice had been fallible and they didn't know why._

" _So…" Sam said, coming to some kind of conclusion, "a fortune teller and a mind reader failed to see this coming."_

 _Edward shivers at the echo of his own thoughts._

" _I'm sorry," Alice says again._

 _Edward frowned at his sister. She was struggling more than anyone else could see. Her mind was a spiral of jarring, contradictory visions. She was leaping so quickly from picture to picture that Edward had trouble keeping up. She was trying to see where they went wrong._

" _It's your fault," Sam said resolutely, stepping forward._

"NO."

 _Esme stepped forward fiercely, her eyes scorching. She pushed Alice behind her with a hand on her shoulder and came face to face with the wolf, who moved back with a look of surprise._

" _You will_ not _lay blame on either of my children. This is a tragedy, yes, but I will not have you label my children as accomplices to those monsters. My_ children _, who live a life against their very nature to do no harm against humanity. My_ husband _, whose very hands are working to save that little girl's life."_

 _She took another step forward, looking like she was going to set the wolf on fire through fury alone. Sam leaned back, nostrils flaring._

" _Do not forget,_ dog _, that it is our very presence that wards this entire peninsula from vampire attacks. I will not have you make a mockery of that effort."_

 _Silence followed his mother's fury, the only sound a shaky exhale of relief from Alice next to him, who sagged with what Edward knew was gratitude. He reached for her hand and gave her a quick squeeze without looking away from the wolf, who was still glaring at Esme but now stood back with an air of intimidation, he could see with satisfaction. Esme glared back, tall and imperious._

" _Dad?"_

 _A tiny voice broke the stand-off. They all looked back towards the house where a young boy with long, disheveled hair was standing at the door with wide eyes, looking from face to face in confusion._

" _What's going on?"_

 _Billy spoke for the first time._

" _Son, go back inside. Please."_

" _But—"_

" _Go back inside. Everything is fi—" Billy's voice broke at the last word._

 _Jacob Black's eyes widened, confusion turning to terror in an instant._

" _Come back inside, son," a wavery voice said from inside the house. An elderly man who Edward didn't recognize but assumed must be one of the elders, appeared behind Jacob's shoulder, gently pulling him back in. Jacob went in with one last look at them all._

 _The arrival of the boy seemed to shake something loose in all of them. Sam seemed to slump, all fight drained from his body. His brothers stared at the ground. Rosalie, who had been silent this entire time on Edward's left, unexpectedly took his other hand in a tight, burning grip._

 _Billy sighed, already heavy with grief at what was to come._

" _Well. You might as well all come inside. We can wait for news together."_

* * *

A/N: Whew. Finally made it through this one day- now the plot gets rolling, I promise.

I actually got reviews! It warmed my cold, dead heart 3


	7. amiable interactions

" _And does she know it's not fine that she cries at night?"_

 _-"Susie May," beabadoobee_

* * *

 _(Before)_

 _There were three shiny boxes on the ground. Her father explained they were boxes to sleep in when you die._

 _The funeral was boring, so she didn't understand why everyone was crying. Six-year-old Jacob was standing far apart, hitting trees with a long stick. She didn't understand why he was allowed to play and she was not._

 _She didn't understand the way her mother stared at the coffins. One big and the other two small, almost by half. Twins._

 _She couldn't understand the look on her mother's face. The way Renee clutched her shoulder so hard that it hurt and cradled her huge stomach with the other hand._

 _She felt she was missing something. She didn't know what._

* * *

(after)

It is sunny the morning after the wake.

She blinks slowly at the ceiling fan. Watches the shadows of the leaves play on the wall at the wrong angle. Too late in the day to still be in bed. The wind shakes the branches. They brush their leafy fingers on the window, imploring her to wake up and join the world.

She rolls over.

Pulls the cover over her head.

* * *

 _Jacob had driven her home last night and he didn't ask her why she hadn't been to see them in almost a year._

" _It's been a while," he said instead to the silence._

 _La Push became Forks when she finally replied._

" _Yeah."_

 _More silence._

" _What did you and Dad talk about?"_

 _She closed her eyes. The questions stopped._

 _Her and Jacob hadn't ever been true friends. There was the age gap and the fact that as kids they were constantly thrown together when their parents would have their little adult visits. Her, Jacob and—_

 _And Nessie._

 _Her absence hangs in the air between them, still unacknowledged._

 _(Bella would trail after them, bored and with the feeling of being saddled with the babysitting. Nessie and Jacob, however, got on like a house on fire.)_

 _She was grateful beyond relief he didn't say her name. He didn't say anything. When they reached her apartment, Jacob cleared his throat._

" _You know— your truck is making a weird sound. I heard it before when you were getting out."_

 _She blinked at him._

" _And… I'm sort of failing English," he said with a sheepish grin. "I remember you saying liked to read and write and stuff. Dad wants me to find a tutor since he's worse at it than I am."_

 _She couldn't remember ever telling him that and she wondered how he must have picked up on it._

 _She swallowed hard._

" _Think about it."_

 _She watched him pull away. And thought,_ maybe _._

* * *

"She's dropping the charges," Chief Burke's tinny voice says over the phone.

She munches quietly on her cereal as she listens to the Chief recount the argument he had with Mrs. Crowley at the hospital yesterday.

"Apparently there's been some problems at home. His father's been getting worse. Mary says Tyler's been acting up at school, getting into trouble when he never used to before. She said that didn't justify him getting his head smashed in."

She can picture Chief Burke's wince on the other end of the line.

She exhales her breath in one big whoosh.

"I said I was sorry. I am."

"Still. You're suspended for three days, kiddo. Best I can do under the circumstances, you understand?"

"I do. Thank you," she says, and means it.

"Hey kid," he says softly, "take this time and focus on getting some rest. Little clarity of mind, alright?"

She quietly hangs up the phone. The window reflects grey light all around her shabby little kitchen.

Looks like rain today.

* * *

 _She was shy and so were the twins. They didn't make much progress as friends before her family moved away again. She saw them intermittently over the years when her parents would visit Uncle Billy and Aunt Sarah on their way to somewhere else in the continental U.S._

 _Billy told Charlie one night that Rebecca's head had been taken off completely with the force of the blow. The force of what, she didn't know. She overheard, when she was supposed to be in bed._

* * *

Day two of her suspension.

Her truck is making that weird sound again and Jacob is failing English and the emptiness in her home is starting to suck the air out of her lungs so she packs some sandwiches, shoves that and her now alarming pile of homework into her backpack, and makes her way over to Billy's house.

(you do this)

(run. avoid.)

Jacob frowns when she pulls up the driveway but smiles widely when he sees that it's her. Billy waves at her from the porch where he is reading a newspaper.

(i am fine)

They spend the day eating sandwiches, Bella halfheartedly doing homework in the passenger seat while Billy and Jacob debate loudly on which part of the engine is responsible for the loud screech it makes when she brakes.

(fine fine fine fine fine)

By the end, its dark out and her chest doesn't ache as much anymore.

* * *

" _Bella, don't climb up on him like that."_

 _Her mother's sharp voice cut across the quiet room and everyone turned to look at her. Her face burned._

" _It's okay, Renee, I don't mind."_

 _Billy's voice was too quiet and cracking and his eyes were red and he looked weird. This whole trip was weird. Everyone was sad. She had never seen a man cry so openly and unashamed in front of a room of people, who were milling around somberly in their black outfits, picking at casseroles._

 _She wanted him to pick her up but her father held her back and quietly explained that Uncle Billy would need his special chair forever now, that they would have to be careful with him._

 _Billy put his face in his hands and cried._

 _She patted his leg with her tiny hand and wondered if he could feel it._

* * *

The last day of her suspension is more eventful.

She has strange, vivid dreams.

 _She flies over Forks like a bird through the forest. She skims the top of a burning house, which is shaking with the howls of wolves that are trapped inside. She ends up in the hallway of a hospital where a man with a white lab coat dripping with blood is holding up the severed head of Tyler Crowley for her to inspect._

She wakes in a panic, sweating and shivering.

(will it ever stop?)

It takes her a moment to register the shrill sound that woke her. She reaches for her phone, buried somewhere in the pile of damp clothes she tore off last night before she collapsed into her mattress.

"'Lo?" she mumbles.

"Kid." The voice is breathless with excitement. "It's Chief Burke. Can you come down to the station right now?"

Her brain is slow to wake up, still stuck in her bloody dreams. "Huh? Why?"

"You need to get down here." The voice pauses. "I got some good news."

She doesn't know why, but her stomach drops at those words.

 _Good news_.

* * *

" _Remember what I told you."_

 _Her father is so, so tall._

" _Not a word to anyone. Not even to Jacob. It's a secret. When they talk about the car accident, you have to pretend that that's the truth and you don't know anything else. It's very important, Bella."_

 _She nodded her head, feeling old and important. Monsters had been as natural to her as the air she breathed but this was new. This was someone she knew. She played with Rebecca and Rachel. Aunt Sarah had sneaked her pieces of candy before dinner. Now they were dead, sucked until all the blood was gone from their bodies._

* * *

Fifteen minutes later she's parking recklessly along the faded red-painted curb that no one ever pays any attention to. It's one of those weird town quirks, for people to casually park in the fire zones. Before her family, there hadn't been a fire in Forks for almost 17 years.

She's managed to wrangle her hair into a braid, albeit tangled, along with her cleanest pair of jeans and everyday jacket. She almost resembles a functional person. She hates seeing the Chief's mouth pull down when he happens to run into her looking run down and bedraggled— which is just her luck that those are almost always the times he happens to run into her.

Like everything else in this town, the station would look unrecognizable as what it is if it weren't for the peeling letters along the side that announce it: _Forks Police Department_. Bella ignores the way her heart clenches painfully as she walks up the familiar stone steps.

She is so distracted with the sharp sting of pain that she almost fails to notice the glistening black sedan— shiny and completely out of place among the faded, dull cars most of everybody in Forks drives.

She pushes the door open with a deepening sense of foreboding.

"Bella," Chief Burke says breathlessly. He is already there, pulling her inside. "So glad you made it here so fast, kiddo."

"Hi," she mumbles, allowing herself to be pulled along.

Chief Burke is up and suspiciously lucid for this time of day and she takes a practiced whiff and doesn't get any strong fumes. Past experience had told her to expect another day or two of hitting the bottle. At least.

"I have some good news. _Great_ news."

He leads her towards his office, where she can see a tall figure examining the flyers on the Chief's wall. She's craning her neck to get a closer look when the Chief pulls her aside and blocks her line of sight.

"Listen," the Chief says, face nervous but lit with something unrecognizable. "I only just found out this morning…."

He irritatingly hesitates.

"…yeah?"

He pauses, takes a deep breath, and finally smiles widely, his huge yellow teeth glistening.

"We're finally gonna get somewhere. I didn't want to tell you 'til it was a sure thing, get your hopes up and everything and it was already such a shot in the dark but— I got him— Bella, we got him."

"Got who?"

"That would be me," she hears a voice say behind her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan."

She turns slowly. Then she looks up.

The first thing she notices about him is how tall he is. The second thing is his large, dark coat that looks like something (her mind makes the association automatically) the Cullens would wear. He looks very out of place here among the flannel and jacket-wearing Forks police force. Even his professional manner is out of place among the homely Forks police force— everything about him screams _outsider_.

"I'm Agent Steven Marks. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Bella."

He extends a smooth, long-fingered hand.

Maybe it's the way he introduces himself, or maybe it's the way he places a slight emphasis on the word _finally_ , or maybe it's the way his eyes stare into hers, but something tells Bella to be very, very careful with how her face looks right now. She knows he is watching her— very closely— to see how she takes this new development.

Charlie's voice echoes from somewhere to the forefront of her mind.

 _(First suspect, Bells— it's always the family.)_

She extends a clammy hand to shake his and hopes he doesn't feel the full-body tremor thrumming under her jacket.

"Nice to meet you," she mutters.

"Agent Marks used to work for _the_ Federal Bureau of Investigation," Chief Burke says unnecessarily enthusiastically, "but he works freelance now and he does some _amazing_ work. You should hear about some of his cases… I picked him up on the radar a while back, a missing kid in Delaware, all over the news…"

Chief Burke rambles on and on, unaware of Bella's less than enthusiastic response. She tries to hear over the hammering of her heart.

Agent Marks stares at her through the Chief's ramble with a vague expression of interest. She tries to school her features into looking animated. Hopeful. The kind of expression you'd wear if there was finally a chance at catching your family's murderer after a long year of cold dead ends.

"I worked a few cases on family homicide during my time at the Bureau," Agents Marks says, smoothly interrupting the Chief's ramble. "That's what led Chief Burke to contact my offices. And I have to say, after hearing the details of your case, I was more than happy to lend him my services."

He stares at Bella taking in his every word. She swallows and nods as he speaks. He doesn't seem to need to blink as much as normal humans.

"It's such a unique case," he continues. "No trace DNA, no clear motive, not even a suspect…"

He trails off. His eyes are the kind of piercing blue that reflect every color around him and consequently give off the effect that he can see straight into her brain. It would be intimidating, if she were a suspect. She tries very hard not to look like a suspect. It's hard with the splattering of bruises screaming on her face.

Exactly how much has he reviewed the case? He gives off the impression that he is not the kind of man who doesn't do his homework and if he's paid any bit of attention, he should know there is one chief suspect around town.

And something about his piercing stare tells her he very much has paid attention to the rumors.

"Yeah," she finally manages to say in a rough whisper. "That's what everyone else said."

She jerks her head in the direction of Chief Burke, who looks like he's moments away from weeping in relief. He beams at her with crinkled, shining eyes.

A break for him at last.

For her, catastrophe.

"I'm… glad," she chokes out.

"Yes, well… such a sad case indeed. The loss of your family must have been unimaginable."

He nods sympathetically. She jerks her head in return.

"Yeah," she manages.

She turns her head away to break the unbearable eye contact. The other officers around them are trying— and failing— to not look like they're eavesdropping.

"I attended the wake yesterday. I was hoping to introduce myself there, but it seems you did not attend?"

"Hmm," Bella says, giving him nothing.

"Well," Agent Marks says after a brief awkward silence, "I'm looking forward to getting to know you, Miss Swan."

* * *

 _She became obsessed with death._

 _She thought about it with childish fascination, too young to feel any real grief for something that seemed so abstract and alien. It reminded her of sleeping. It still felt like Aunt Sarah and the twins would be there every time they pulled into their house, all rested and done with their hiding away._

 _They would jump out and say_ boo _and then they would all laugh at the trick and Aunt Sarah would pat her head and say_ aren't you the sweetest thing _and give her candy. Rebecca and Rachel would blink solemnly at her and offer her crayons to draw with._

 _The monsters were dead people walking around like alive people. So how could her friends be dead?_

* * *

She goes flying down the highway.

She slams on the gas pedal, pushing her ancient truck dangerously to its limit.

This is bad, she thinks. She turns a corner sharply and nervously chews on her thumb. This is really, really bad.

What was it her father always said _? No suspicion ever_. The family business being what it was, they could not afford drawing attention to themselves. They had the luck of Charlie being a policeman, and as such, they could always do themselves the convenience of glossing over certain suspicions if they needed to. Falsified police reports, access to unlimited files, perfect covers for strange questions. Keep the helpless humans in the dark and all that.

But she is a 17-year-old minor— emancipated but yes— still a minor, going to high school with absolutely none of her father's resources and no such luck in anything apparently.

What is she going to do when this man starts asking questions she can't answer? What is she going to do if he works out exactly how strange this case is?

What is she going to do if he finds out she set that house on fire?

* * *

 _Renee, after the funeral, frantically cornered her daughter from where she lingered by the back porch._

" _Mommy?"_

 _Renee reached forward and grabbed at her, her arms circling tight around her chest and her giant belly smooshed into her face._

 _Bella felt, for the first time in her life, like she was looking at Renee Dwyer. Seeing someone who was more than Mommy in her mother's face. Someone with her own life. Her own fears._

" _Isabella Swan, you listen to me right now. You protect yourself. Always. You never go anywhere without me. You don't go anywhere alone."_

 _Bella blinked at her mother. Renee shook her shoulders. Hard._

"Do you understand me _?"_

" _Yes, Mommy."_

 _Renee hugged her hard again and sobbed into her shoulder. Bella held her terrified mother and came to a realization that she would have many times, over the years._

 _Her mother was only human._

 _It was up to Bella to protect her._

* * *

Bella is speed walking up the Black's gravel drive. It's quickly becoming familiar to her. She is about to storm Billy's house with the bad news when she sees Jacob frantically waving his arms from where he is crouching down below an open window, kneeling by the side of the house.

"Shhh," he whispers frantically when she gets close enough. "I'm listening."

He points to the open window and Bella peeks inside. She can hear indistinct voices coming from the kitchen. She recognizes Billy's smooth tenor but hears another unfamiliar one. A woman's.

Bella kneels beside him on the dirt.

"What are you doing?" She whispers.

Jacob screws up his face in concentration.

"Dad keeps kicking me out whenever his friends come over. I wanna hear what they're talking about."

Bella shuts up and listens with Jacob. After a while, she can hear some distinct phrases coming through.

"… but we must be ready…"

"… of course, the real threat comes from discovery, not exactly suspicion…"

"… keep us updated for any changes…"

"… Carlisle believes staying will be the best thing…."

Bella perks up at the name and narrows her eyes. _Carlisle_. One of the leeches must be inside. And judging from the unfamiliar voice, it's the one she has left to meet.

She grits her teeth and Jacob frowns at her.

 _What_? He mouths.

She shrugs her shoulders and tries to control her face.

"Jacob!" Billy's voice calls loudly. "Was that Bella's truck I heard?"

"Shit," Jacob mutters and stands up, brushing the dirt off his knees. He rushes off toward the other side of the house and jogs over to Bella again, trying to make it sound like he was in the shed.

"Yeah, Dad! I'll go check."

He rolls his eyes at her again and helps her up by the strap of her backpack.

"Snitches get stitches," he says at her, and Bella rolls her eyes. He grins easily.

She ponders this as she makes her way up the ramp to the front door, slightly disturbed by it. It is astonishingly easy to be herself around Jacob. She's unused to the feeling with anyone who isn't family.

(don't think about that)

She steps inside the house and gets slammed in the face with the smell of vanilla. She steps into the kitchen, where the smell concentrates to the point of being mouthwatering.

"Bella? I wasn't expecting to see you back so soon. Me and Esme were just catching up in here over some coffee and some of the best cookies I've ever had in my life," Billy says, with a grateful nod towards the woman sitting across from him.

Billy does a very good job of not sounding like he's been caught red-handed but Bella guesses there must be enough betrayal on her face that he at least doesn't ask her to join them.

Esme Cullen— the only one of the bloodsuckers who Bella hasn't yet seen in person— is sitting at Billy's polished wooden table and holding a cup of coffee paused halfway to her face, like it was Bella that stopped her from drinking it.

She vaguely reminds herself to calm down, remembering what happened the last time she lost her temper.

Esme stands. She is not as tall as Bella has imagined her.

The vampire smiles gently, exposing none of her teeth, and extends a hand to where Bella is still standing with one foot out the door.

"Hello, Bella. My name is Esme Cullen— I believe you already know my husband," she says slightly apologetically.

It is hard— very hard— to not be immediately taken in by the bloodsucker. She gives off such an immediate aura of _unthreatening_ that Bella can't help but be baffled by it. She could pass this woman on the street and not look twice if she didn't know better.

Esme Cullen is extraordinarily _human_. At least, she seems so. Her features are softer, more rounded than the others, who sometimes look to her like they're carved out of marble. Even her cheeks seem naturally blushed, even though Bella knows it must be some kind of facade. She wears clothes that covers the majority of her skin— a cream-colored cardigan over an innocuous flowered dress that covers all of her legs so the only skin exposed is her face and neck. Her hair falls in careful waves over her shoulders that only bring out how lovely her face is framed.

Bella swallows the rush of adrenaline down, her body automatically sensing the threat and preparing her for a fight.

Esme shuffles awkwardly and drops her hand when Bella makes no move to take it. She moves back and folds herself back down on her chair, her face sympathetic rather than offended.

"I was on my way home when I remembered I had some things to drop off here. Billy has been helping me with a school project," Esme explains (lies) easily.

Bella feels herself nodding her head, her eyes on Billy, who is still steadfastly ignoring Bella and busying himself with preparing another cup of coffee. She narrows her eyes as he mixes sugar into his cup, when she knows full well he drinks nothing but black.

"And I wanted to drop off some cookies," Esme says with a beaming smile towards Billy. "My daughter Alice has been experimenting in the kitchen lately and I don't know what to do with half the dishes she makes. Most of them have ended up here or with my fifth-graders," Esme says with an easy laugh.

"We're not complaining," Billy says, eyes crinkling as he smiles.

Bella watches this exchange with no small amount of bafflement. Esme shares that trait with her mate, the ability to spin normalcy like it's nothing.

"Do you know Alice, Bella?" Esme asks with a gentle voice. "I believe you are both in the same year, along with my son."

Bella clears her throat.

"Um. I've seen her around. I don't think we have any classes together," she answers tonelessly.

"Oh," Esme says, her face falling a little. "And my son? Edward?"

Bella bites the inside of her lip. She doesn't want to be doing this right now, shooting Billy a look that she hopes conveys the intensity of the feeling.

"I, um— We have biology together."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Esme says with a blinding smile, like Bella just handed her the moon. "I do hope you've gotten a chance to speak with him. He's not the best at being sociable."

Esme gives her a conspiratory little smile and Bella actually finds herself leaning back, recoiling from the ease with which Esme seems to speak to her about her family.

Bella has to firmly correct herself. Not family. A _coven_.

She makes them sound so normal.

"Please feel free to stop by _anytime_. I'm sure my children would be more than happy to bring you around whenever you feel like it," she says, her face so unbearably kind. And genuine.

Bella is stunned into silence, so Billy answers for her.

"That's a lovely offer, Esme. I'm sure Bella will take you up on it," he says genially, but with a reprimanding glance at Bella, as if she's being rude for not accepting the offer to visit the vampire death house.

Esme stands up gracefully, folding her hands in front of her, with the air of gathering herself up to leave.

"Please take some cookies, Bella. Alice made enough to feed a small army. And thank you again, Billy. I'll call the next time I can come up again."

"Thank you, Esme," Billy says genuinely. He wheels over to the entrance where Bella is still standing, shell-shocked. "I'll show you to the door."

Esme follows, pausing in front of Bella, another apologetic smile on her face.

"I am very happy to meet you, Bella," she says sincerely, "I do hope we will see each other again soon."

She smiles at her one last time, no trace of hostility, and turns to follow Billy out of the door. She doesn't offer her hand again.

She hears them both exchange more pleasantries, meaningless chatter about _kids_ and _schedules_ and _get_ _togethers_. Finally, the front door shuts with a distinct finality.

Billy rolls back into the kitchen, widely arching around where Bella is still standing. He takes the same spot on the table and grabs another cookie.

"You need to work on controlling your face, Bella."

She jerks back at that.

"What do you mean?" She asks too sharply.

"She is a part-time schoolteacher with cookies and sweaters," Billy says smoothly, dunking his cookie in his coffee cup and waving it around. "You were staring at her like she was the bride of Frankenstein."

Bella stares. "You're joking right?"

"No," Billy says, "these people are more perceptive than that. Don't think they haven't noticed the way you react around them."

"And how do I react around them?"

"Like they killed your family."

Dead silence follows his words.

Billy sighs.

"Bella… I may understand you better than anyone in the world. But you were rude to my guest. And my guests are welcome here, the same way you are."

Bella fumes.

"So this is a regular thing now? How often do they even come up here? The other leech was here the day of— the other day. What did you both talk about?"

Billy keeps his eyes on his mug, stirring his coffee.

" _Edward_ , you mean? He came to offer condolences on behalf of his family. We are making steps towards… _amiable interactions_. The treaty was renegotiated a year ago and there have been no problems. I daresay our people have never been safer."

She purses her lips, the whole thing just too difficult to swallow.

"Bella," he sighs, "You were rude then too. The very least you could do is greet them when you see them."

Bella swallows hard, her face burning out of nowhere. "You make it sound like I'm some misbehaving child. You know what they are."

" _Who_ they are are my allies," Billy deadpans. "They will be here again. You will be here again. It's just something to keep in mind."

She feels irrationally irritated with him, but she can't exactly storm off yet.

"Anyway— I didn't come here to talk about the Cullens. We have a situation. It's not good."

"Yes," Billy says, turning back to his coffee, "Agent Steven Marks. Former FBI. Now a private investigator— a very good one— assigned to look into your case. Esme came by to inform me."

Bella blinks. "What? I only just found out 30 minutes ago. How do they already know?"

"They have reasons to stay vigilant as much as we do. And it's to our benefit that we work together on this. An agent looking into things here, that's not just a threat on me and you. It's a threat on all of us."

"So," Bella grits out, "We're working with the bloodsuckers on this? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I know that the best way to stay ahead of this man is to have all eyes available. And all possible advantages. The Cullens have nothing but advantages, as well as unlimited resources. So yes, I think it is a good idea."

Bella purses her lips. She has to admit, it does make sense. The Cullens have as strong a reason as they do to not want prying eyes.

Billy is watching her carefully.

"You need allies, Bella. I wasn't lying when I said you should take up Esme's offer."

Bella snorts.

"I just wanted to give you the courtesy of a head's up. But since you're already aware, I have homework to finish."

"You know," Billy interrupts her exit again, "Esme believes you are upset with her husband. They've both noticed your strange behavior."

Bella freezes, cold flooding her stomach.

"What do they know?"

Billy shrugs. "As far as I can tell, nothing yet. Esme was just telling me. She is under the impression you resent her husband and maybe even her for failing to save your family. Renee made it to the hospital that night. She believes you are angry that Dr. Cullen failed to save her."

Bella blinks back tears.

"Don't talk about that."

"Okay," Billy says easily. "But you might want to consider correcting that assumption."

"And how would I do that?"

Billy shrugs again. "You could tell her you are a hunter."

Bella can't help it. She laughs for real this time, because that idea can be nothing but a joke. But it dies in her throat when she sees Billy's expression.

"You're serious," she says incredulously.

Billy sighs again. He'll get a sore throat at this rate.

"Esme Cullen is not a threat, Bella. Neither is Dr. Cullen. And then there's Alice and Edward. They're in your grade, in the same school. Have you ever considered the opportunity before you? You've never had it before. All these places you've been, around the world, and can you honestly say that the friends you've made there ever really knew who you were?"

Bella can't even coherently think of a response to that. She doesn't want to tell him that she didn't even _have_ friends.

"So, you want me to buddy up and get all cozy with the vampires?"

Billy takes a sip of his coffee and puts his mug down heavily.

"Amiable interactions. A good first step."

She blinks, speechless.

"I'm just saying, it might do some good to have someone understand the whole picture. After all, you can't rely on just the company of a meddlesome old man every time something happens in our world. Believe me, I understand how lonely keeping these secrets can become."

"You're not a meddlesome old man," Bella mutters automatically.

She doesn't want to make it sound like she's okay with it, but she knows he has her best interests at heart.

Still. He doesn't have to be so annoying about it.

Billy smiles.

"Thank you, Bella. I appreciate that. Now, I'd offer you some cookies, but I know you'd rather eat mud. Now please go tell my son that he needs to learn how to whisper when he's standing in front of an open window."

* * *

 _She held a crossbow for the first time after the funeral, when they got back to New Hampshire two weeks later._

 _Her father set it out on the kitchen table, naming aloud all the complex mechanisms of it, explaining the proper stance she'd need to take, the muscles she'd need to build over time to have the strength to hold it up, the force she'd need to pull the string back enough to let an arrow fly._

 _Her mother watched them from across the room, her lips pursed._

 _She could barely hold it up. Her arms shook with the weight of it._

* * *

" _Shit_. How is it that he's always one step ahead of me? And he can't even walk?"

She chews on her thumb as she watches Jacob storm around the tiny shed. She found him here after her little chat with Billy, tearing the place apart looking for something called a carburetor.

"Seems like a dickish thing to say about someone who's in a wheelchair."

"He's my dad, I'm allowed to be dickish," Jacob says rudely, well into a bad mood.

Bella relaxes, leaning against what seems like the shell of an old car, completely devoid of its insides. It's easy to be around Jacob. He's someone with no pretense and consequently, has no problem being around Bella and her constant bullshit. It's comforting to her, being around someone who not only doesn't mind her moods but actually understands them. And has some of his own. The fact that she's only really been around him for the span of three days and he already feels comfortable around her to rant about his dad is telling.

She feels like he can become a real friend, if she let him. Or at least as real as it gets for her.

 _Until he phases. There would be no bullshit charade between you then_ , a selfish voice whispers somewhere in her head.

The thought makes her slightly sad, so she pushes it away. This life is hard. She didn't want to think about Jacob being forced into it, no matter how little time she's actually spent with him. No matter how much she actually craves a real friend. Craves it so much with an intensity that it hurts.

It reminds her of Billy's suggestion of confiding in the Cullens.

She snorts out loud. Jacob looks up, confused.

"What?"

Bella just shakes her head.

"What are you doing anyway?" She asks, trying to distract him.

Jacob exhales sharply through his nose.

"Nothing, really. Organizing. I can't seem to get my head on straight today."

Bella leaves him to it, understanding his need for some space. She is just about to pull her homework out when Jacob clears his throat.

"Bella," Jacob asks, completely seriously, "why do you act so weird?"

"What?"

The question completely throws her.

She takes her time settling herself down on a rusty paint can before she turns to Jacob, who is still awaiting an answer. Her heart is skittering like a rabbit. What did he notice when she wasn't paying attention?

"What do you mean?"

"It's just…" Jacob trails off, frustrated. "I don't know. I think Dad has been keeping things from me."

Bella frowns.

"What makes you think that?"

Jacob wipes his hand over his face, exhaling sharply.

"It's just— things, you know?" He says incoherently. "Like now, or when you guys were talking the other night. What were you guys even saying that I wasn't allowed to listen to anyway?"

Bella fidgets, uncomfortably aware that Jacob is watching her face like a hawk.

"It's nothing— _bad_ ," she explains. "I think he just wanted to check in about— about how I've been doing," she chokes out.

Technically true. They had briefly touched upon that.

 _The cold ones at the school. They're leaving you alone? I am concerned about you having to see them every day._

( _Having to remember every day_ , he didn't say.)

Jacob watches Bella carefully.

"I asked Dad the other day, about Mom. And Becks and Rach," he says out of nowhere.

"Oh," she says, trying to control her surprise. She doesn't remember Jacob ever willingly bringing them up. "And… what did you guys talk about?"

"The car crash," Jacob says tonelessly.

He turns his back on her, fiddling with greasy metal parts on top of the table that she can't tell heads or tails of. He's quiet for a while and she tries to formulate responses to questions he might ask. Tries to remember the cover story she was told when she was eight years old. She never expected that he would ask her this late in the game. When he didn't over the years, she had let her guard down, let those all-important details in her head dwindle away to nothing.

"Dad didn't want to tell me anything."

Jacob finally turns back to her, his face drawn and resentful, something sour brewing on his face that was rare to see and didn't belong there.

"I mean— I thought _now_ , being sixteen would be old enough for the man to give me _something_ — something more than _I just don't see what good it does talking about things you can't change_ ," he says in a mock imitation of Billy's voice.

"Maybe he can't talk about it yet," Bella offers quietly. "Maybe it's too painful still."

"No, no, no, no, no, that's the thing," Jacob says, shaking his head. "He talks about it with _everyone_. The elders, Old Quil, Harry, Sue, _your_ parents, like— _everyone_. Everyone _except_ for me."

Jacob paces back and forth, gearing up for what she's sure is a serious rant. She adjusts herself more securely on the rusty bucket she's sitting on, folding her arms over her knees in a gesture she hopes doesn't come across as defensive.

"I mean, maybe that's his way of trying to protect you. Or, protect himself somehow."

"Yes, thank you Dr. Bella. That makes so much sense," he says, rolling his eyes.

She bristles from the bucket.

"It _does_. Parents do that all the time. It's easier to talk about painful things with people who don't depend on you."

She looks down at the cluttered ground and Jacob kicks at the dirt with the toe of his frayed sneakers, both ignoring how her voice wavered on the word _parents_.

"That's not it though," Jacob says under his voice.

He looks down at her and Bella tries to keep her focus on the table behind him, feeling something dangerous brewing in the distance.

"Can you tell me something?"

That's a dangerous question but Bella finds herself nodding her head.

"Do you think there's anything unusual about how Dad was paralyzed?"

That's not the question she was expecting.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well…" Jacob trails off.

He goes to sit next to Bella on the floor, copying the way her arms are hugging her legs. Even sitting on the ground, he's a whole head higher than her, even when she's sitting on the bucket. She didn't realize how much he had grown in the span of only one year.

"Promise you won't think I'm crazy?"

Bella feels the beginning of anxiety flutter up her spine.

"I promise," she says, trying to school her face into looking like she doesn't know what's coming next.

Jacob stares intently at the floor.

"You see… I _remember_ what we were doing that day. And Mom wasn't out for a drive. And she wasn't out with the twins either. We were home. She and Dad were going out for dinner and they got Emily to babysit Rachel and Rebecca only I was sick that day, so they left me with Sue."

Bella blinks. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah," Jacob says, finally looking up at her. "Mom and Dad dropped me off with Sue and then they went. The twins weren't with them, they were back home."

"Isn't Emily the teenager who got attacked? By the…" Bella trails off, trying to remember the exact details of the cover story.

"By the bear? Yeah," Jacob says, eyes intent on her face. "Same day as the car crash. Isn't that the weirdest part? I remember her in our house, playing with Rebecca and Rachel so… why would my dad tell me that the four of them were in the car without me?"

Bella shakes her head in mock confusion, eyes on the floor. She can still feel Jacob watching her.

"And," he continues, "Emily ends up getting mauled by a bear on the same day? A sixteen-year-old girl ends up permanently disfigured by some random bear in the middle of the woods where she had no business being _on the same day_ she was babysitting two girls who died in a car crash that was so severe they barely had bodies to bury?"

Her heart sinks. Jacob was more perceptive than she had anticipated.

"I didn't know that," she says quietly.

"I mean. Either this town has the shittiest luck in the world or something else is going on that we don't know about."

"Hmm," Bella hums, nodding her head. Jacob is still watching her.

"And then… and then there's you."

Bella's head snaps up.

"What do you mean?"

"Bella," Jacob says seriously. "Come on. Your entire family dies in a fire? Murdered? In _Forks_?"

Immediate fury fills her limbs and she springs up to her feet. Jacob leans back, surprised.

"Don't talk about my family."

Jacob narrows his eyes. He jumps to his feet too and rounds at her.

" _Come on_ , Bella, don't tell me you haven't considered it or even _thought_ about it. How can all these things have happened out of nowhere? To you and to us? You don't think _something_ could possibly be going on?"

"Sometimes, Jacob," Bella spits out, unexplainable rage clouding her vision, " _shit just happens_. It's not _special_ , it's not for any grand reason, it's just because sometimes life— it just— it just _sucks_."

"Life. Just. Sucks?" Jacob repeats, eyebrows going up. "That's it? Your entire family gets murdered and you throw up your hands and give up on finding out _why_? You don't care about why someone did that to you? To your parents? To Ness—"

" _SHUT UP_!"

Her screech echoes off the metal tins that make up the walls. Jacob closes off, crossing his arms against his chest. He sizes Bella up and down, whose chest is heaving up and down like a raging bull. Her hands are shaking with some unnamable emotion.

"You know it's not normal."

"Believe whatever the hell you want," she snaps, her backpack and keys already in hand. "Your sisters and your mom are dead. You thinking that it happened in some special way somehow doesn't change that.

"You have a shit poker face, Bella."

"Go to hell, Jacob."

"And you know," Jacob calls to her retreating back, "just because you have dead parents and a dead sister doesn't give you the right to be such a dick all the time."

Bella slams the door to the shed as hard as she can. She hears something crash inside. She hopes it was expensive.

* * *

 _The girl was much older than her, or so it seemed, to a child looking at a teenager._

 _Emily Young sat by her family and another teenager, a boy with dark and serious eyes too old for his face. The white bandage on her face was a stark contrast to them all, a blot of white against a sea of black umbrellas and coats._

 _Emily jumped at every sound. Her eyes skittered to the woods, to the people, never resting on one thing for more than one second at a time._

 _Except for when she looked at Bella._

 _Emily's eyes met hers and she stared and stared, mesmerized by the child, until Charlie picked her up, saying it was time to go._

* * *

She slams her books down on her shabby kitchen table, rattling the uneven legs.

She has school tomorrow and she needs to focus, needs to finish the stack of work that Chief Burke oh-so-kindly dropped off the other day for her but she can't think about anything because she was a dick to Billy, an even worse dick to Jacob, and she probably should apologize but she's also so, _so_ angry, and the Cullens are apparently having coffee dates with Billy like that's the most normal thing in the world, and there's a man in Forks who could absolutely destroy her life if he is good enough at seeing past the things that are so clearly not right in this town.

She sits, fuming, trying to focus on reading the note taped onto a stack of college applications.

The guidance counselor she's required to meet with once a week during 6th period wants her to _consider her options_ for the future. It's the fall semester of her senior year and she hasn't applied to a single college. Her guidance counselor politely informs her via post-it note that she is way behind where her peers are in the process.

She crumples up the note and slides the stack of crisp white paper into the bin. For some reason, college doesn't apply to her. She can't think past the next day, let alone the next year. Her future is a terrifying blank space and she doesn't feel the need to make any plans for it.

(she won't make it long enough to see it)

But. First. School tomorrow.

She turns to Calculus. Does one equation. The next. The next. Gives up. Moves on to English. Jots down an adequate enough summary of the book she's read over a dozen times. Moves back to Calculus. Does one more equation. Moves on to Biology. Reads over the paper detailing the upcoming group project that will account for over half her grade this semester. Reads the name of her assigned partner.

The lead snaps off her pencil.

* * *

" _Bella."_

" _Yes, Mommy?"_

"… _nothing, sweetie. Go back to sleep._

* * *

A/N: I like to theorize that in this alternate universe where hunters exist, there would be this whole rich history between Bella and the Quileute tribe.

In this world, vampires would have targeted the tribe. Sarah, Rebecca, and Rachel would have been attacked at their home, with Emily being an unlucky casualty, and Jacob being lucky enough to not have been home at the time. Billy and Sarah would have raced back home at the news of an attack.

It will be revealed later what exactly transpired and how Billy and Emily survived the vampire attack.

With the help of the elders, a car crash would be staged as explanation for the deaths.

In this universe, Emily's injury is made by a vampire (not a Native man, because that is some BS) from its razor-sharp fingernails. She would have had to have been told about the vampire world, since she witnessed the attack firsthand. She stares at Bella because she is also made aware of the existence of the hunters and would have been told that the little girl sitting on her father's lap would grow up to hunt vampires.

I hope all that was clear enough to deduce from Bella's little fragmented snippets down memory lane.

(Also, how bout that Midnight Sun news?)


	8. preparations

" _I should run and go, I should run and hide. But I'm stuck on you."_

 _-"Love from NGC 7318," Taner_ _é_ _lle ft. Barnes Blvd._

* * *

(87 years ago)

 _The Monster had not fed in weeks._

 _The thirst was a physical burn, compelling him to move. He barely had the presence of mind to ignore the people bumping into him, entire groups running up and down the streets._

 _Everybody was looking for work. This slum seemed covered in some kind of grime that couldn't be washed off and everyone seemed coated in it. Prostitutes shook their scarves in his face, enticing him closer. Parentless children ran past him, their fingers slyly reaching towards his pockets._

 _He kept walking. If he stopped moving, the Monster would not be able to hold back any longer._

 _Night fell and the thirst was at its peak— worse than anything he'd ever felt._

 _Someone had the misfortune of walking too close to him._

 _The man was worn and greasy-looking— clearly somebody who hadn't bathed in a few days. The man stunk of whiskey and he swayed back and forth as he walked, in the direction of the alley the prostitutes liked to frequent._

 _The Monster prowled before Edward could stop it, delirious with thirst._

 _The man went down hard and silently, shoved into a dark alley in the blink of an eye. He didn't even have the presence of mind to scream before the Monster tore his throat out in a frenzy to get to the blood underneath._

* * *

 _When it was over— his own clothes burned, the body dumped in a lake— Edward realized he had no idea what the man had been thinking before he killed him._

* * *

(now)

"Oh," Alice breathes. "Something's happening."

Edward looks up from where he is decimating Emmett in five-way chess. Emmett takes advantage of his distraction to pocket one of Edward's rooks.

It's been a quiet, boring day, stuck inside to avoid the sun coming out at 12:38 pm, according to Alice. It's only slightly more bearable than school would be, although his frustration is great as his plans to confront Bella have been delayed.

Edward frowns.

 _Dark coat. Perceptive eyes. A pale, bruised face looking blankly up into them._

"FBI in Forks?" He asks aloud.

Emmett completely forgets about his cheating and leaps to his feet.

" _What_?"

"Bella Swan," Alice says, eyes unfocused. " _Of course_. That's why I didn't see it until now."

Edward keeps his face blank, trying not to look too suspicious.

All those months ago when Bella Swan had walked into that cafeteria and Edward heard not a _whisper_ of a thought from her mind, he had made two important decisions that— though he didn't know it at the time— would come back to bite him in the ass. Decision one was to keep to himself, no matter how ridiculous the reasoning, that Bella Swan's mind was completely silent to him. Easy enough so far. But decision two was growing to be more and more disastrous by the day.

Decision two had been to lie to Alice.

"I wasn't even _trying_ to look," Alice complains. "Now my head feels funny."

She grimaces and rubs at her temples. Edward can only be happy that Jasper is out hunting with Rose and Esme. His overreactions could put Edward's to shame.

Emmett had found Alice's slight blind spot when it came to Bella Swan very interesting for about two minutes. He sits back down on the floor in a flash, pocketing another piece in the game that Edward has already stopped caring about. A knight this time.

"Explain," Emmett says in a bored voice, now uninterested but still vaguely annoyed at being left out. He hates the one-way conversations between Edward and Alice.

"He's investigating the Swan murders," Alice said. "He's meeting with Bella Swan in about two days."

She squints, her face going pinched.

"I can't see his name."

She leans back on the couch and sighs.

"She's still so unclear. _And_ delayed. It's making me sad."

Edward tries not to wince.

Months ago, on that memorable first day, Alice had asked him if he thought there was anything extraordinary at all about the new Swan girl.

He had said no.

" _Depression can make people that way sometimes. Fuzzy."_

And then she walked back to Economics and put it out of her mind.

Edward had not.

He had let her latch on that excuse—when depression made human brains fuzzy, it consequently made their decisions fuzzy, which is what Alice would pick up on. Like a phone call with bad reception.

He did not offer any other possible explanation for why Alice could sometimes hit a wall when trying to see the future of Bella Swan. It's not like he knew _why_ he couldn't hear her. At least back then.

But it's different now—and now he feels a smidge of guilt for deliberately leaving out a piece of the puzzle from Alice.

Especially if Alice is now feeling genuine discomfort when trying to see her.

 _She must have upped her defenses, after yesterday_ , he thinks a little bit frantically. _There is no other explanation._

So little he understands. So much that he still does not know. Is it possible she is more dangerous than he imagined, if she can cause a vampire discomfort just by being thought about? Or is what Alice is doing a little bit more complicated than that? Can she shield herself from Alice's visions too, like she can to his mind-reading? Is she even aware she is doing this?

Emmett's voice brings him back to himself.

"Not much we can do about that," says Emmett, carelessly. "FBI though?"

He grins widely at Edward, ignoring Alice, who is now rocking back and forth, rubbing her temples.

"Jasper's gonna _freak_."

* * *

Jasper, predictably, does freak.

"We leave tonight."

"NO," Rosalie says petulantly. "We are _not_ starting over. We just got here."

"Won't it be even more suspicious if we all pack up and leave the second an FBI agent rolls into town?"

"Weren't you planning to do that just a second ago?" Jasper shoots back at him.

"Boys. No fighting—"

"FBI means focus. Focus means discovery. Isn't that exactly what you're supposed to be on the lookout for—"

"Don't blame him for you being paranoid—"

"He's not paranoid, Rose— you'll just take any option that ends with you not having to start high school all over again—"

"Do you think he carries a gun everywhere?"

"Shut up, Emmett."

"It's a valid question—"

"We have nothing to do with the Swan murders—"

"Are you joking? We have _everything_ to do with the Swan murders—"

"I am NOT moving again—"

"No fighting—"

"Enough."

They all shut up and turn to look at Carlisle, who is looking out the back window into the dark green forest, frowning deeply. He takes a moment before speaking, with finality.

"We cannot leave."

He turns slowly, ignoring the sounds of protest from Jasper and little _ha_ from Rosalie.

"We have responsibilities here. You five have to finish school. Esme has her students. I have my patients—"

"You _cannot_ be _serious_ —" Jasper starts.

"And—" Carlisle continues louder, "we _all_ have Bella Swan. Or have you forgotten that?"

Dead silence follows while Carlisle stares straight into Jasper's still dark eyes.

"I will not leave an innocent human girl undefended after _our kind_ killed her entire family. We _will_ do the right thing, Jasper."

Carlisle is resolute, his voice clear and unflinching. Jasper lowers his eyes.

"But they're long gone," Emmett says into the silence. "Why would they care about one girl when there's so many others they can drink up?"

Edward's eyebrow twitches in irritation as he reminds himself that Emmett doesn't mean to be rude. It really is just how he sees them all— boring, insignificant weaklings. Then he wonders why the hell he even cares.

"They might come back," Esme says quietly, staring at Edward. "It's always a possibility."

"It could be a pride thing," Alice chirps up. "Get the one who got away. It's better for her if we stay. Safer for us too."

Jasper's head shoots towards Alice's voice and she smiles back at him. Edward feels the perceptible shift in his family when they all relax. If Alice made up her mind, there is no question that Jasper would follow.

Jasper sags, defeated, the battle lost. Alice flashes to his side in a second.

"That doesn't mean we won't be careful," She says consolingly, her hand on his scarred arm.

"Precautions have to be taken. The paperwork needs to be spotless," Jasper says mechanically to the room. Rose is upstairs in a flash, the hum of the computer turning on reaching their ears. Her thoughts are jubilant at having won.

"No doubt he'll be looking," Jasper continues, frowning. "We're strange enough for that."

Jasper looks up at him, gaze hard as he meets his eyes.

"You will have to stay. There's no way around that."

Another tension-filled silence. Even Rose stops her typing upstairs to listen in.

Edward grits his teeth. He called this. He so _definitely_ called this. Alice couldn't have predicted it better. He had known this would be Jasper's concession— he would give them all the best defense if there was even the slightest inkling in the agent's mind that something was off about them.

 _But be honest_ , says a small voice in the back of his mind, _could you really leave after this?_

Bella Swan's challenging face from yesterday flashes through his mind.

"Please, son," Carlisle says quietly behind him. "This is only temporary."

He doesn't miss how Esme grasps hopefully at Carlisle's arm behind him.

No way around it now, if Carlisle was asking. He owes him too much to say no now.

 _(Aren't you clever, using that excuse?)_

"Fine," he grits out, like a child. He is upstairs in a flash.

The chatter resumes downstairs after a moment but it's easy to tune out. He can let them work out the particulars. Rosalie resumes her machine gun typing on the keyboard. Emmett starts up one of the other computers downstairs, chattering excitedly to Alice. Carlisle and Jasper continue in low voices over contingency plans, hidden offshore accounts, passports and birth certificates.

Edward stares into his dark room, outside at the canopy of dark green trees. A heavy rain has started, pounding on the roof, filling his room with the scent of petrichor and wet soil. The brief sunlight of today seems ages ago.

School tomorrow then.

The suitcase that holds all the belongings he had deemed worthwhile enough to take with him still sits by the window. He walks over to it, grimacing that the only truly worthwhile things he's managed to accrue over the decades can fit inside one bag.

He starts to unpack, trying not to focus on that small part of him that is ecstatic at the need for him to stay in Forks. Maybe he's just experiencing secondhand joy from Rosalie's thoughts.

He stops when he hears the soft rustle of fabric behind him and catches the gentle scent of vanilla.

"Are you alright?"

Damn.

He has been so preoccupied with Alice's perceptiveness that he forgot to consider Esme's.

He schools his face into a smile before turning back to face his adoptive mother. She is frowning at him, her lovely caramel hair spilling gently over her shoulder.

"I'm fine."

He turns back to his unpacking, smoothly taking out the little trinkets he had thought to take with him. A music box from Alice. A jeweled comb from Rosalie that was one of the first things she had ever given him. A beautiful, cream-colored journal from Esme.

(A lemonade bottle cap. A crumpled up five-dollar bill.)

He takes out the journal, its ivory pages still blank. It had seemed a waste, to ruin such beautiful pages with his thoughts. He rests it atop the bed that Esme had insisted on installing.

"I can see that," she says, with a trace of sarcasm in her voice.

She's by his side in a flash, smoothing back his unruly hair and he can't resist but smile at her, truthfully this time. Come what may, no one can ever say he doesn't adore his mother.

"It's a change in my plans," he says by way of explanation.

Her thoughts don't agree.

He sees her mind consider these past few months.

 _His own face in her thoughts, frowning, staring at nothing, lost in his own thoughts. She watches. She worries. Something has been troubling him_.

She voices this, even though they both know its unnecessary.

"The Swan's deaths trouble you more than you show, I think," she says gently. She lays her smaller hand on top of his, which is still resting on the journal.

He keeps his face blank as he scrolls her thoughts. It is the only explanation she has come up with for his strange behavior these past few months. It relieves him, but also slightly disappoints him, that she has made no other connection.

His mother would understand his recent confusion, he thinks.

But he still can't bring himself to correct her. His recent promise jumps to the front of his mind, a more effective gag than if he were to sew his own lips shut.

"It was not your fault, what happened that night," Esme continues gently. "They were of the worst of our kind. Had we been more aware, perhaps…" She drifts off, lost in thought. "Even Alice could not see what was to happen. It goes to show how little we can count on fate."

Edward's hand stiffens under hers and she clenches it gently.

"Even we are fallible too."

For a moment, they just stand there, listening to the rain batter against the walls of the house and the distant chatter of their family. After a while, something small eases in his chest. At least, in the middle of all his preoccupations and worries, he can give himself the small reassurance that he will not be breaking his mother's heart by leaving her. Her thoughts are radiant with the relief.

"I'm glad I can give you some small amount of happiness, Mom."

Esme gently swats at his head as he ducks, grinning.

"My idiot son. You give me a _great_ amount of happiness."

Her smile is still on her face, but he hears the last thought whisper sadly in her mind.

 _I wish you would remember that, from time to time_.

* * *

School is more awful than usual.

It's awful because everyone is still talking about what happened with Tyler Crowley with varying degrees of accuracy, the most recent embellishment being that Bella was dragged to the hospital in handcuffs after punching a police officer in the face. It's awful because they're still finishing the horrible _Romeo and Juliet_ film in English. It's awful because they are all forced to attend a schoolwide assembly about the dangers of bullying, which only adds to the fire of everyone's mind yelling about how Bella Swan and her violent outburst actually _proves_ that she did kill her entire family.

And it's awful because the person in question is still not back in school.

By lunchtime, he is ready to murder anyone who even breathes in his direction.

"Move," he snaps at Rosalie, whose leg is taking up an entire side of the bench.

She narrows her eyes at him and puts her other leg on top, crossing her feet.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and considers the situation he'd put them all in if he tore Rosalie's arm off right now and started beating her over the head with it. He throws himself on the seat next to Alice, slamming his lunch tray on the table. Emmett and Jasper decided to stay home today, Jasper still needing to hunt and Emmett just blowing off school. He should have done the same.

"You're in a bad mood," Alice observes, without lifting her eyes from her nails, which she is painting a dark blue the exact color of her sweater.

"Everyone needs to stop talking and _thinking_ about Bella Swan or I'm going to lose my goddamned mind," he hisses, trying to open his bottle of water without it exploding all over the table.

Alice nods.

"It is getting quite excessive."

"I get it," Rosalie says with a shrug, offering her hand to Alice, who starts to paint her pinky nail with expert precision.

Edward shoots her a glare. "What do you mean?"

Rosalie sighs, her eyes rolling to the ceiling like she's exhausted with the fact that her brother is such an imbecile.

" _Think about it_. Yeah, we _know_ she didn't do it. But if we _didn't_ know that, who would you think did?"

"True," Alice says.

Edward grinds his teeth.

"Being the sole survivor doesn't automatically mean you did it."

"Also true," Alice quips, ever the peacemaker.

" _Anyway_ , I think we got worse things to worry about than _Bella Swan_ ," Rosalie says with a roll of her eyes.

It bothers him how she says her name, like she doesn't think much of the human, if at all. Then (once again), he wonders why the hell he even cares. And quietly reminds himself that Bella Swan is most definitely _not_ human.

"What?"

Rosalie reaches behind her and grabs her backpack, zipping it open and pulling out a stack of papers in one fluid motion without ruining her wet nails. She dumps it on the table in front of her siblings.

"Agent Steven Marks. I researched all his old cases. He has a success rate over _90 percent_. The way his mind works," Rosalie says, shaking her head back and forth, "it's _genius_. He's good. Really good. He's methodical and perceptive and—" Rosalie trails off.

"— and exactly what we don't need right now," Edward finishes.

"Exactly."

Alice pauses in painting her final thumb nail and reads through the paperwork in front of her, skimming through the entire stack in seconds. She frowns.

"Where did you find the time to do this, Rose? It's super detailed."

"Mr. Larson lets me do whatever the hell I want, since he's in love with me," she says with a disgusted roll of her eyes. "Revolting but useful."

Edward nods in agreement. Mr. Larson is the computer science teacher, who spends his entire class period drooling in Rosalie's direction. He's 25 years old and a generally scummy looking person but does have access to some of the best technology in Forks. Rosalie spends the majority of her class period brushing up on her cyberterrorist-level coding skills and thinking up creative ways of flaying the man alive, which Edward tunes in to hear on particularly boring days.

"We need leverage," Alice says calmly, now reaching for Edward's left hand, which he begrudgingly holds out for her to paint. "Does he have anything we can use to blackmail him? Family? Affairs? General sketchiness?"

Rosalie is already shaking her head.

"I _really_ looked. There's nothing. Guy is squeaky clean. And worse," Rosalie says darkly, "he's motivated."

She reaches into the stack and hands Edward a single sheet of paper.

It's a news article dated back almost 10 years. There's a black and white photo on the bottom right corner— it looks like an average family, father and mother smiling with two small children posing for the camera in front. He peers closer— the man looks vaguely familiar, seen only through Alice's vision in his head. The headline is in all caps.

FAMILY OF FBI AGENT MURDERED IN BRUTAL TRIPAL HOMICIDE— DETECTIVES SUSPECT CONNECTION TO PAST CASE

Edward curses under his breath.

"You see?" Rosalie says, pointing at the headline. "This is the kind of man who's not going to stop for _anything_."

Alice reads over Edward's shoulder. "They never caught the guy."

"Lots of similarities, right? It's already personal for him. He _chose_ to work Bella Swan's case."

Alice and Edward stare at Rosalie, who is still pointing at the headline.

"You know what this means, right?" Edward asks.

"Yeah," Rosalie says with a huff. "We're _fucked_."

* * *

After lunch, Edward sits in Biology trying not to think about the empty seat next to him or Rosalie's research or brutal homicides or anything the other 29 people are thinking about right now. He doodles aimlessly on his notebook as he waits for class to start, practicing the ancient art of meditation that Alice once forced him to try out with her one boring afternoon. It doesn't help.

"Everyone settle down," Mr. Banner says when he walks in. "We've got a lot to get through today."

Edward tunes out, still sketching mindlessly. Mr. Banner drones on and on about the importance of peer work in college, which he says they're all going to have to get familiar with. Edward sketches out a dark circle and starts shading it in. Mr. Banner says how in college, peer work and peer review will account for the grand majority of research for anyone going into the sciences. Edward sketches out a pointed eyebrow, right above the iris. Mr. Banner explains how the end of semester project will be practicing the very process of peer review with their lab partners.

Edward's eyes shoot up.

"You will practice on each other. One will present a research proposal and the other will review it and vise versa. There's only two months before winter break, folks. This is all we'll be working on until then. _And_ ," he says loudly, over the collective class groan, "it will account for over half of your final semester grade! So, let's get to work!"

Mr. Banner starts handing out the paper detailing their project requirements. On the very top left corner is the name of his assigned partner scribbled in red ink.

 _Bella Swan_.

He raises his hand.

Mr. Banner's eyes go wide and he freezes in the middle of passing out papers. The entire class falls silent, every head turning to him.

 _I've never even heard him_ speak, someone thinks.

He stiffens under the scrutiny. _Honestly_.

"Yes, Edward?" Mr. Banner asks somewhat nervously.

"Are we allowed to change partners?"

Dead silence falls. Mr. Banner shuffles his papers and clears his throat. Edward pries into his head.

 _I knew this would come up but who else could I stick her with?_

"I'm afraid not, Edward."

Edward swallows hard.

"Can we work alone?" He asks somewhat desperately.

The muttering starts up in the back of the classroom. He doesn't even try to hear.

Mr. Banner straightens up.

"The whole point of this project is to practice _peer_ review. I don't exactly see how you can do so working alone."

"I could write a paper on it or just join another group—"

"Mr. Cullen," Mr. Banner says with finality. "I'm afraid when you are in college, you won't necessarily get the chance to pick your partners. Your grade will depend on whoever you are assigned to work with. Consider this good practice. And let this go for everyone," he says, turning to the class. "I don't want to hear all these requests for switching partners just so you can work with your friends. In college, you won't…"

Mr. Banner's voice is drowned out by the roaring in his ears. Edward stares at the tiny red letters until they blur together.

* * *

 _You knew you would have to face her eventually_.

He kicks at the dirt.

 _The perfect opportunity falls into your lap and you try to avoid it?_

He jumps high into the treetops, climbing to reach his favorite spot where he can sit for hours with the view. From here, he can see almost all of Forks.

 _Why?_

He had come home and wandered outside, running until the thoughts of his family were distant hums that he could easily tune out. His brain felt like pulled taffy. He told them all he needed the silence.

He sits with his back against the thick trunk, scratching the blue paint off with his thumbnail in neat little lines. And tries to think about what he is going to do.

He's lying to Alice. To Rosalie. To _everyone_.

He needs to tell Bella that he knows what she is, and _soon_. If he doesn't, Billy will tell her. And then he will have lost the element of surprise. Bella will know that her cover is blown and she might take it upon herself to strike first. And then he'll truly be fucked.

He knows. He has one more day until Bella comes back to school. He needs to be ready.

* * *

He spends the night tracking two mountain lions near the border, miles away from Forks. The hunt feels good— he goes alone, the opportunity to be miles away from any living thought too sweet to resist.

He takes down two with expert ease, not holding back. He feels the blood thrumming through his body, bringing him to peak strength. He takes a long detour on the way back, feeling his muscles stretch and hum as he runs like a wraith through the forest. Reminding himself that he is still on top of the food chain.

* * *

He returns home around four in the morning with a plan, exhilarated and dripping with rainwater.

The lights are on in the kitchen.

"Alice?"

His sister is a sight with flour-streaked hair and panicked eyes. She is chewing on her thumbnail, sitting crossed legged on the floor in front of the oven.

"Don't talk to me right now, Edward— this batch is _not_ burning."

Edward grins. "Shouldn't you know if they will?"

"That's the thing," Alice snaps, "I can't decide when to take them out so consequently—"

"You burned _three_ already?"

Alice sniffs, turning her head away.

Edward snatches one of the finished cookies off the plate on the stove and gives it one tentative sniff.

"Um… Alice?"

"Hmm?" She replies, not taking her eyes off the stove.

"Um… how much vanilla did you put in these?"

"I don't know, like three bottles?"

"Oh. I see." Edward clears his throat. "And where's your recipe?"

Alice shrugs. "I don't need one. I'm a genius."

"So… how are you measuring things?"

Alice blinks. "Measure?"

Ah.

"Well… you see… human food is a bit more complicated than throwing together whatever smells good. Take vanilla, for example," he says, holding the cookie up. "Tastes delicious when subtle. Poison in large doses."

Alice blinks. Then looks to the oven with dismay.

"I guess you can be forgiven for not knowing that."

"I added five bottles to _these_ ," She wails, ignoring him. "They didn't smell right! Esme wanted me to make treats for her class _and_ for the Blacks! How am I supposed to know that white powders aren't interchangeable? They look the same. The _same_ , Edward."

He stifles a laugh, since Alice looks genuinely distraught.

"I'll help. We should have a recipe book somewhere."

Alice nods quickly, wringing her hands.

"Um. Alice?"

"Yeah?"

"I think your cookies are burning."

* * *

They work through the night, Alice dutifully measuring the ingredients and handing them over to Edward, who mixes everything together with expert precision.

Alice watches with uncharacteristically somber eyes.

"How are you so good at this anyway?"

Edward shrugs.

"I studied culinary back in London. Remember?"

"Oh," Alice says.

Edward frowns at his sister, who is dully poking at the eggs he had her separate with sad eyes.

"Alice… why are you baking in the first place?"

She shrugs, eyes on the counter.

"I told you. Esme asked if I could."

"But… you offered," he says, scrolling quickly through her thoughts.

Alice sniffs, face downcast.

"I just… I just wanted to do something nice," she finishes lamely.

 _I thought I could do this right. At least._

The realization crashes at her whispered confession. He turns back to the batter, mixing in the eggs.

"Alice... You know it wasn't your fault, right?"

She sighs. "Yes, you've said so. Everyone's said so."

"But…"

Alice finally looks up at him, her eyes wide and shining.

"But how can we all say it wasn't your fault when we don't even know why you missed it in the first place?" Edward finishes her thought for her.

"Exactly," she says quietly.

He frowns, carefully keeping his eyes away from hers.

He swallows down the powerful wave of guilt, his good mood vanishing in an instant. He could tell her. He could tell her right now and end his sister's year-long self-punishment.

He tries not to feel guilty over how easy the decision is to make.

"I missed it too," he says instead.

Alice scoffs, turning her back to him to wipe the counters in a blur of movement.

"You cannot possibly compare the two."

"Except you can," he argues stubbornly.

Alice leans against the sink, the tower of dishes already done. She sighs, the tiny arch of her shoulders drooping down.

"Regardless. I can't turn back time and do it right this time, I can't cure Bella Swan's depression, I can't see if things will get better for Billy Black, I can't make little kids understand what happened to their friend, but I was hoping I could do this _one_ thing. And I can't even do that."

She hangs her head, arms crossed protectively over her chest.

(He is the worst brother in the world.)

The timer dings.

He gives her some space, reaching into the oven and pulling out the trays with his bare hands. He places them on the counter, the delightful scent jarring against the heavy silence.

He goes over to lean against the sink, side by side with his sister.

"If the day ever comes when you have a worse outlook on life than I do, that is the day I will run around naked with only Emmett's flannel jacket from the 70s."

Alice cracks a smile at that but her eyes are still sad. Stuck in the past.

He elbows her side gently.

"Moping isn't a good look on you, Alice," he says much more seriously. "That's my job."

Alice smiles and elbows him back.

* * *

They get to school an hour later.

"They're excited," Jasper says dully from the backseat, right when he pulls into a spot.

They quickly find out why.

"He's back."

"Joy," Rosalie says from the passenger seat, slamming the door on her way out.

* * *

"Mr. Cullen, you can join Mike and Tyler for now since your, um— partner is still out," Mr. Banner says. "Just go over potential topics for now. She can catch up tomorrow."

He grimaces.

Mike and Tyler are sitting towards the back, heads close together and muttering.

Tyler is a _sight_. He has two black eyes, one of which is still almost completely swelled shut. There is a bandage on his forehead where he needed stitches and his lip is both bruised and split. More than that, however, Tyler is radiating positively frantic vibes— the air of a defeated alpha who is scrambling to regain ground from the embarrassment of a very visible and obvious defeat.

Edward drags over his lab stool with a loud screech and plants himself right in front of their table, ignoring how everyone stares. They both seem to unconsciously lean away from him.

"Hi," Mike says nervously.

"Hmm," he hums back.

His eyes shoot over to Tyler, who can't seem to keep still. He taps his foot, gnaws at his pencil, shoots everyone in the class suspicious looks. Edward automatically leans away from him too, the energy of his thoughts immediately setting his teeth on edge. His mind is a scramble of fury and humiliation as he keeps going back to Bella's remarkable outburst in the trig room.

— _is he imagining things, or are all of these people all pointing and laughing at him behind his back, everyone in the school is talking about how he got his ass kicked by a girl, oh my god, the embarrassment, he's swears to god, she's going to get hers, they'll see, they'll all see and_ god _, he does_ not _need to be around Cullen right now, guy acts like a complete_ sociopath—

Edward lays his elbows on top of the lab table, resting his weight comfortably on his arms.

"How's the car, Tyler?"

Tyler's eyes shoot to his face.

"What? How did you know about that?"

Edward carefully shrugs his shoulders.

"I thought I heard it from someone."

Tyler narrows his good eye, suspicious, but still responds.

"I have to replace all of the tires before I can drive it again. Mom was pissed, said I had to come up with the money somehow. So now I'm walking to school."

Mike sighs, shaking his head. "That sucks, man."

Tyler slams his hand down on the table, which Edward can see is bandaged.

"It's _bullshit_ ," he hisses. "Some asshole slashed my tires. And it's all because of that bi—"

His voice dies off and both he and Mike shoot him a look. It's clear they don't know whether Edward can be trusted to shit on Bella Swan the way everybody else does, since he spends the grand majority of his time acting like other people don't exist. He picks at his thumbnail, which he left painted in silent support for Alice, giving them nothing.

"That's too bad," Edward says carelessly.

"Yeah… it is," Tyler says, eyes narrowed.

Mike clears his throat, uncomfortable.

"So… Edward," he says, with a false, wide smile, " _Bella Swan_. She's your partner, right?"

He tries not to roll his eyes. "She's the only one not in class right now, so… yes."

Mike internally bristles at that but he plays it off with a laugh. "That's unlucky, man."

Edward frowns. "Why?"

Both he and Tyler laugh, then falter when they see the completely serious look on his face.

"You're joking, right?" Mike asks, his stupid mouth gaping. "I mean, _you_ were even trying to get out of it. Don't tell me you're looking forward to working with that— that—"

"Psychopath," Tyler mutters under his breath, glaring at nothing.

"Right," Mike says, pointing at Tyler.

Edward delicately shrugs his shoulders.

"I dislike group work."

"Yeah, that much is clear," Tyler says rudely, still glaring at a huddle of giggling girls in the front of the classroom.

Edward ignores him, but Mike doesn't seem capable of letting it drop.

"But don't you agree, you know…" Mike says, leaning closer and lowering his voice, "don't you think she's the most obvious suspect?"

He completely fails at resisting the urge to roll his eyes this time.

He knows, very clearly, that Mike's extreme antagonism against Bella Swan has nothing to do with any moral code but rather over how she consistently (and very conveniently) had other plans any time he asked her out. Of course, that was back when he was still asking her out, not spreading rumors in the cafeteria.

"You know... I don't think she did it," Edward announces to the air.

Both Mike and Tyler gawk at that, Mike like he's not sure if he's joking or not and Tyler with open disdain. He pushes on.

"I mean, I'm a rational person," Edward says lightly, staring at the wall behind them like he can't be bothered one way or the other, "And most serial arsonists aren't soft-spoken 17-year-old girls who read a lot and get good grades. They're rejected 18-year-old white boys."

He looks back to Mike, who is staring with his mouth open.

"So statistically, you're the more obvious suspect."

He shrugs his shoulders, turning back to his paper. Mike and Tyler have fallen silent.

"You know, I think I'll do my report on blood typing."

* * *

He wonders, watching Tyler squirm with suppressed rage for the rest of the class period, if Bella should be watching her back.

The bell rings and he gathers up his things, noting with satisfaction that Mike scurries off faster than usual.

He's about to walk out of the door when Mr. Banner waves him down.

"Edward, a quick word please? I'll write you a pass for your next class."

He sighs, already seeing where this is going. He hovers by his desk as Mr. Banner clearly waits for the class to clear out.

"So, Edward," Mr. Banner begins, once they're alone, "I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. I know there's been some… _tension_... throughout the school about Ms. Swan. And I can understand why you would have reservations against working with her."

Edward stands up straighter.

"Actually, Mr. Banner, I don't mind."

Mr. Banner blinks.

"Oh. You seemed to mind yesterday."

Edward sighs.

"I know. I admit I did, but I did some… deep introspection yesterday. And I realized it was a bit unfair. She's an excellent lab partner. I think we'll work great together."

Mr. Banner blinks at him, his thoroughly constructed arguments vaporizing in his head.

"Oh. Well, that's great, Edward. Of course, your grades speak for themselves. I have no doubt you have nothing to worry about."

Edward smiles.

"I think so too."

He leaves the room, thinking of how many witnesses could now place a connection between he and Bella Swan. They would work together, be seen together. He thinks about how many people would be watching them. The antisocial sociopath and the murderous psychopath.

If he suddenly disappeared, she could no longer say she had no personal connection to him whatsoever.

He smiles.

 _Your move, Bella_.

* * *

(87 years ago)

 _Edward ran._

 _The night was cold and windy. Rain pelted him on all sides as he ran as fast as he could, leaping through the tin rooftops of the slum, his shoes soaking through with mud and scum from the alleys._

 _He finally reached a payphone and he pulled out his wallet, inserting the coins with shaking hands._

 _He dialed the memorized number._

" _Hello?"_

 _He shook, rainwater dripping off the bridge of his nose, and he closed his eyes._

 _(monster)_

" _Edward, is that you?"_

 _His breath wavered. He shook his head. No. No._ No _._

" _Edward, where are you?"_

" _Help," he whispered. "Rosalie, help me."_

" _Edward, what's wrong?" She said urgently._

 _He had never felt so far away. How many years had it been since he had been home?_

" _Where are you?"_

" _I don't know, somewhere in Cleveland— Rosalie, I— I think I killed someone."_

 _He breathed in his sister's silence, miles away._

" _But… Edward, you've— been gone for years."_

You've been killing for years _, she didn't say._

 _He shook his head frantically. She didn't understand._

" _I didn't hear— I don't know who it was. It was— just some man. Just some person, Rosalie."_

 _The silence grew on the other line._

 _He waited with his heart in his throat. Who else could understand but her?_

" _I'll be there in two hours."_

* * *

A/N: Everyone should listen to the song quoted above- It has such Edward/Bella vibes and I love it.

Please review! Please. Pretty please.


End file.
